Tempora Mutantur
by Allen Declan Harding
Summary: The Final Task did more than just damage Harry. Voldemort's uprising sparked a will within him, a will to change. Waves of Change is coming, and Harry is going to ride it out to fulfil the responsibility bestowed upon him since before he was born. One peculiar French witch might just be the catalyst to his victory. It's not just another love story between a witch and a wizard.
1. Nos et Mutamur in Illis

**Note from Allen Harding:** Hey there, thanks for clicking on the story. Please keep in mind that this story is my creation, but I do not claim any of the characters or assets that were already thought up by Joanne Rowling. Credit goes where credit is due, and she created an amazing world that we should all be thankful for.

This story was made entirely by myself, though I hope not to have to do so. I am open to suggestions and ideas from PMs or reviews. I am open-minded, to say the least, and most definitely read all the reviews and messages sent to me, considering they are not offensive or ridiculous. I do respond to feedback and am open to the idea of having a beta that isn't my girlfriend.

Sorry for taking your time, enjoy the story.

New Edit: I hate to edit the chapter so early on, but I am going to be placing a poll on my profile that is in regards to the plot line of the story. I hope to be interactive with my readers. This will happen every other chapter where the readers could help dictate the direction of this story. Go ahead and check out the poll on my profile.

* * *

 **1\. Nos et Mutamur in Illis**

'I know Professor Dumbledore told us not to owl you, but be safe mate,' said Ronald in the stiff, one-armed hug he shared with Harry Potter on the crowded platform of the nine and third quarter, packed with other Hogwarts students disembarking the express steam train of the same name.

Behind the two stood the impatiently waiting brunette bookworm that was waiting for her fair share of Harry. As if it were automated, Harry pulled away, only to be found in a bone-crushing embrace brought upon by Hermione, almost knocking him off his feet before he caught himself from falling forward.

Harry needn't turn around to face her to notice her tear stricken eyes. Sometimes, he'd ask himself if she were more deeply affected by the outcome of this year than the cursed one himself. At the present moment, he couldn't help but take an interest in the fact the recently blossomed woman behind him was pressed curiously hard against his back. His male instincts reacted as per normal, even though his mind continuously implored him to realise that she was practically his sister. Thankfully for him, it was enough.

He wriggled under her embrace until he was facing her. He'd grown slightly since the start of the year, tall enough to allow her to rest her head on his shoulder finally. The feeling of his shoulder gradually dampening from the tears of his best friend was heartbreaking, but his heart was set on the unpleasant decision of being apathetic and impassive. Harry couldn't even recall saying more than three sentences since their departure from Hogwarts eight hours ago.

Hence his silence as he brought his hand up to rub her back while his other wrapped around her. Nonetheless, he could feel his own eyes begin to well up as if her tears affected him on a chemical level as they provided a darkened spot on his grey shirt.

'I'll miss you,' she croaked, muffled between them as the bones in Harry's body felt as if they were beginning to bend in impossible ways. He suppressed the urge to groan to not make it appear as if he were in a position of displeasure to her. As if that has stopped her before, but the passing year changed everything.

For every moment he closed his eyes, the darkness under his eyelids only dragged him back to that godforsaken graveyard. For every shade of green glanced upon in the Scotland landscape reminded him of the streak of green that raced and engulfed the real champion of Hogwarts. Even the mere brush of heat venting off the stove in the centre of his dorm room made him flinch.

Upon entering the tournament - be that as it may, against his will - no one would have ever thought that any champion that returned from the final task, would ever be the same one that entered.

Their embrace eventually had to come to a close as Hermione's father placed a hand on her shoulder, tugging lightly at her, no doubt in fatherly instinct.

'Mr. Granger,' Harry acknowledged; the intimidation that her father had in for him clearly having no effect.

'Mr. Potter,' he said back. Harry recalled Hermione's assurances from the year prior that he acted such towards any male around his darling daughter. He noticed a bushy-haired brunette, which could easily be described as an older variant of his best friend trailing right behind her father. The last thing that he'd wanted that morning was to make conversation with...anyone really. If she was anything like her daughter, an impending conversation of extended length was getting dangerously close.

'I apologise that I can't stick around but my uncle doesn't like to be kept waiting, and I'd prefer that a scene isn't pulled this early in the morning,' Harry stated as he gave his best friends a quick hug and bade them goodbye.

He could sense the dissatisfaction in his friends as he looked to leave as soon as possible. Nonetheless, he appreciated the space his best friends gave him. After all, they hadn't known a single individual who had suffered more hardship the boy-who-kept-on-living.

The cop-out wasn't entirely built on falsehood as there hasn't been a year that went by since his admission without his uncle pulling a fit in the car park of Kings Cross on the very topic.

Typically, he would be "greeted" by an aggressive yank on his collar, forcing him to trip chest first into the handlebars of his trolley, earning a hoot from Hedwig as she's rattled in her cage.

Somehow, the changes transcended from his magical world as he was only gestured by his uncle to follow him through the main hall of Kings Cross as he followed him through the doors leading to the car park. He hadn't tried to open the doors for him, leaving some level of normalcy in the morning in Muggle London.

He found Dudley leant on the boot of the familiar Vauxhall estate belonging to his uncle. Watching Harry approach, he popped open the boot, their gazes averting from one another. His behaviour gave a clear indication of his familiar displeasure to help him with his trunk.

Harry was somewhat pleased that his cousin had flushed out the walrus look he was taking after his father. After his belongings had been loaded into the boot, Dudley motioned to engage in one of his attacks on Harry, forcing their gazes to finally meet, his piercing green eyes burning into his blues.

This wasn't the first time the two cousins had shared eye contact, but it was the first time that Dudley Dursley felt an unparalleled amount of emotion being produced from a pair of eyes. Dudley wasn't one to cower from bullying his "freak cousin," but he was one with a heart, and for once his heart won.

Harry didn't know whether to be shocked or pleasantly surprised when he saw his cousin pull back and manoeuvre around the family car and ducking into the passenger seat.

* * *

The Boy-Who-Lived-Again still couldn't understand why that had happened as a day had passed since his return to Surrey, and his cousin hadn't been acting up like he'd expected him to have done multiple times over by now. He hasn't been summoned down to the kitchen to be accused of pulling some "magical freakishery" as an excuse for their own mistakes, which in turn would force him to be both beaten and compelled to do another chore.

They'd left him alone. A dream come true according to Harry. Yet he couldn't help but wonder why his accommodation hasn't returned to the hell it once was. Reason would point towards Dumbledore's doing since the Headmaster has established a habit pulling strings from the darkness. After all, what Muggle would reject a request from one of the most influential individuals in the Magical World. People know power, magical or muggle.

He would soon find out, life isn't as complicated as that when he reached the last step on the staircase, nearly bumping into Dudley on his way down.

'Whoa, sorry,' said Dudley as he stepped back to let him walk past. At this point, Harry's had it. He put a hand on his shoulder, which wasn't as much of a handful as he'd expected.

'What's going on Dudley?' The question was eating at him since the morning before. He saw him shuffle uncomfortably as if we ventured for the first time into a topic that didn't involve insults and degradation.

'I'm tired Potter,' said Dudley, careful to spit his last name in a familiar disgust. Harry's eyebrows furrowed as he saw past his ruse, well aware of his stammer before saying his last name as if he originally intended to call him by his first. He didn't want to let it slide, but the thundering footsteps that could only belong to his uncle now were approaching from the sitting room.

The door opened rather gracefully, all things considered, drawing the attention of the two by the staircase.

'Boy,' his uncle said as he aggressively pushed past Harry to hike up the stairs, his stomps not going without notice. Harry wasn't worried per se with his uncle's behaviour, it most definitely was not the first time he was "expressive".

Fortunately, this bout of aggression did not arise from any of Harry's doing, the boy assumed. Turning back to Dudley, he asked.

'What's wrong with Uncle Vernon?'

'His drill company, Grunnings, took a hit when a competitor gained a lot of recognition in the past few months. He's been working his arse off to keep Grunnings in the standings.'

Never mind the two had a two piece conversation that did not include magic or insults, Harry was most surprised by the decently constructed sentence that left his cousin's lips. His surprise did not go unnoticed as Dudley displayed his own expression of frustration.

'I'm not stupid Harry.' At this, Harry rose an eyebrow. Unfortunately for him, Dudley chose this moment to take his leave, and rather than go up the stairs like he'd wanted, he left through the front door, shutting it behind him, leaving Harry alone in the foyer of Privet Drive Number Four.

It was the morning, give or take around seven to eight rather than the usual five to six. A habit Harry fell into as the year came to a close following the tragic end of the Triwizard tournament. Both of the male Dursleys shared the scent of sausages and eggs, which led Harry to believe the last of the family resided in the kitchen, only further confirmed by the sound of water and scrubbing.

Hoping his luck remained, he entered through the glazed door, passing by his latched, former bedroom: the cupboard under the stairs, now housing his trunk.

Petunia Dursley. He could never see that woman baring any biological relation to his mother. She stood like a bleached stick behind the sink, using her bony claws to grip into the sponge, brushing furiously against the face of the greased plate.

It appeared that the entire household was on edge, no doubt due to the rise of stress in his uncle. For as long as he could remember, whenever his uncle got moody, it often impacted the entire household. Whenever Harry was home, most of that impact would be directed at him, and he had the scars to prove it.

His entrance to the kitchen caught the attention of Petunia, all be it the wrong kind.

'Dudders, it's best if you just leave mother alone right now,' she said, closing the tap and grabbing one of the towels hanging on the edge of the counter. When she turned around to face him, he expected the look of shock to plague her gaunt face.

'Yes. Not Dudley,' Harry announced 'He'd just left a minute ago.'

She acknowledged him with a brief 'hmm' before proceeding to ignore him by returning to her washing. Harry reached around to grab one of the recently dried bowls, with the intention of getting something to eat this morning. He was clearly not in the mood to fight with any of the Dursley's, but nor was he in the mood of being pushed around by them anymore.

The idea was often thrown around since he was a child, but the Harry that returned from Hogwarts this year was most definitely not a child anymore.

He played a role in the rising of the Dark Lord and was both witness and victim to the three Unforgivable Curses. He watched a friend's death and was inches from it himself, from the wand of the most feared wizard of his lifetime.

Harry shivered at the thought of the cruciatus curse being cast on him once more. Most described it as being stabbed by a thousand hot knives. Somehow, that blurred in comparison to what he felt at the mercy of Lord Voldemort himself.

'You break that bowl and Vernon'll snap boy,' Petunia cautioned.

Harry hadn't noticed that he'd been holding the plate in his hands, gripped tighter in the palms of his hand than he'd ever had with a snitch.

'Don't tell me you're having issues too freak,' she spat. Harry had already taken his seat and planned to make himself some breakfast. Plans don't go according to plan for Harry Potter, and sometimes even the simplest of ones goes awry.

'Excuse me?' He knew it would incite her, but he said it anyway.

'Excuse you?' Harry sat with his back to her, but he knew the sound of the water being shut and a quick towelling off was the clear indication of an impending outburst.

'Vernon is at risk of losing to some young upstart. You cannot dare say you have issues with your teenage hormonal rubbish,' Petunia hissed finally, seething through her teeth.

Harry stood up with force, sending the chair back to hit the wall, making a mediocre crashing noise, causing some of the dishes on the rack and in the cupboards to rattle.

'The man who killed my mother, Your Sister, damn near killed me a month ago. My blood-' He yanked on his sleeve to reveal a bandage around his forearm, concealing the laceration that could not be healed by magical means due to the dark magic imbued in the ritual, forcing healers to resort to stitches. Not to mention the lack of numbing charms since his departure of Hogwarts, leaving him in pain daily '-was used to revive him. He tortured me for a solid five minutes, at the mercy of one of the most dangerous individuals in the world.' Harry attempted to control himself, but his words turned into shouts that sent Petunia shrinking, her face paling. He took it down a few notches as he descended into territory he never wished to return to.

'Worst of all, I watched a friend die right before my very eyes, all because I wasn't selfish enough to grab a bloody cup.' Now Harry was left seething, towering over a Petunia Dursley. She was gaping, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, trying to find the words to construct an attack towards him.

'Another one of your childish lies and outbursts no doubt,' she said in her attempt to maintain control in the conversation, but her stammering and stuttering only convinced Harry that she took his words to some degree of truth.

* * *

The rest of the day passed by quietly. Harry felt blessed that his uncle didn't come marching downstairs to attempt to give him a beating. He remembered Petunia's last words before she too went upstairs about being thankful that Vernon is a heavy sleeper. It did take a long time for Vernon to notice that there was a flying car, exhaust guzzling and the lot hovering outside the house a single bedroom away.

Apparently, Vernon turned in early today because he'd worked the night earlier after dropping him and Dudley off at home. Harry tried not to feel sorry for his uncle, but unfortunately, his good-heartedness continued to be a pain in his arse. He begrudgingly resolved to be less of a disturbance around the house, which means he intended to spend most of his time either in his room or outside.

In his earlier years, he didn't have the liberty of leaving the house, and most of his life, the cupboard. After having blown up his Aunt Marge and taking his leave from the number four, he found that he was granted the privilege of leaving the house entirely. It was later clarified when he returned from his third year with Vernon telling him that he could only leave the house in the early and late hours, practically the hours in which there won't be anyone to see him enter or leave.

It was only a couple minutes past the dusk of the day when Harry found himself sitting at his bedside, his wand twirling at his fingertips, unbeknownst to him that the tip was giving a slight glow. His eyes were focused on the mirror across from him, staring into his emerald eyes, not in admiration like most would, but in vexation. His thoughts were partaking an aggressive conflict in the battleground that was his mind. His heart versus his mind: one side claiming it was his fault for not doing anything, while the other reasoned he couldn't have done anything.

He could have warned Cedric more coherently, could have saved his life rather than withering, clutching his scar in pain, a pain that he was all too used to since he was eleven years old. He could have stopped Wormtail long before he cast the curse. With the sudden change in scenery that was so unfamiliar and dangerous, because a graveyard was never mentioned in the third task briefing, they should have grabbed the portkey once again and jettisoned. Some of the reasons his heart put together were ridiculous accusation towards himself, but for lack of better word, he was too traumatised to understand anything other than that: it was his fault.

His heart and mind found disagreements on almost all fronts, but one. Harry closed his eyes, hoping to remember it clearly.

'Change...' Harry whispered.

The third year, during one of the Golden Trio's study sessions at one of the secluded tables in the Hogwarts Library. Ronald was sleeping with a History of Magic textbook overturned, its pages lying against the orange bush of hair on the back of his head while his nose crushed against the wood of the table. Hermione, on a pronounced tangent, had buried herself in a very different book, where she seemed unusually invested in the area of time. Harry, while not pulling a Ron, was trying his best to keep up with her. What they're studying was supposed to be focused upon the Goblin Rebellions. Specifically, Yardley Platt's contribution to several of the uprisings during the 15th to 16th centuries.

'Harry,' Hermione nudged at Harry, giving no second thought to the hopeless cause Ron was 'Listen to this from Ovidius.'

Harry, not knowing who Ovidius is or was, decided to tune in anyway to satisfy her.

'It goes "Tempora mutantur...nos et mutamur in illis".' Harry only stared back, somewhat amused that she would have thought he was fluent in Latin.

'Right...' Came Harry's response.

'Yes. In English, it is "Times change, and we change with them".'

Harry grinned at the memory because he soon followed up with a question of how it was relevant to the topic they were studying at the library. In which he was answered with a blush and her stating it had caught her interest. Now, he had a whole new understanding of the quote.

'Nos et mutamur in illis,' he murmured as he opened his eyes 'Voldemort is back, the times have changed. It's time for me to change, for better...not worse.'

'I'm not an innocent child anymore. I can't stand by idly and watch a war unfold while I take classes and act as if nothing had happened. I'm a part of this fight.'

He found himself drawn to the photo frame at his bedside, his mother and father, dancing in the autumn breeze.

'I have been my whole life.'

He knew what others would say about his decision. Molly would say he would be throwing away the life his parents sacrificed themselves for. Dumbledore would say he needs to be protected and hidden away, not on the front lines like he wants to be. Sirius would begin with a witty joke before descending into the serious ground. The same would go for Remus.

If they were anything about the Marauders he knew, they would be proud of him and side with him as he takes control of his life and commits it to putting the safety of others first and sparing others the fate his parents had suffered at the hands of Lord Voldemort. He didn't believe in destiny, divination had ruined that for him in the third year, but there was still a lot he believed in nonetheless.

'It's my responsibility.'

His mind was already throwing together ideas, plans for the summer to help him grow, to help him improve, to make him stronger. So that when he returns to Hogwarts and is within his rights to use magic, he would be ready to train. When he'd finally left the rabbit hole, he was standing in the middle of his bedroom, the photo in his hand, and a tear streaming down his cheek.

'This is for you.'

* * *

It was dark, the skies plagued with aggressively grey clouds. The only light that his eyes could see was a few metres from him: the translucent trophy with a bright white and blue glow on its side. The atmosphere didn't feel warm and hair-raising like it'd been only moments before. Instead, it was cold, the air gloomy and stale. He could only explain the rapid change in surround through the familiar tug the portkey gave during the Quidditch world cup.

Lying on his chest, he put his hands flat on the ground to push himself up, but his tire after having felt like he was yanked across a stadium from his wrist, only to come crashing down into foreign and unfamiliar dirt.

The clouds parted slightly, allowing only the slightest of moonlight to give vision to the incapacitated Gryffindor. His efforts to push himself up once again was met with a deep, stinging pain above his hip, inciting a cry as he fell back down on his elbow.

He glanced down, using his other hand to brush the wet and dirty bangs of hair ahead of his glasses away. He then brought his fingers to his eyes to wipe away the sweat mixed with dirt in his eyes.

A branch, from the rapidly deteriorating maze upon his exit no doubt, had impaled him through his side. The branch wasn't large, but remaining in his body and sticking out at two sides wasn't doing any good for his body. This wound wasn't like any Quidditch injury he'd sustained as it remained in constant pain after having realised its existence, causing him to tremble in pain.

'Harry!' The voice exclaimed, but before he could face him, his own eyes opened, staring at the blurry ceiling of his room.

 _It wasn't that bad today_...thought Harry.

He shoved his hand under his pillow, pulling his holly wand out and placed in on the bedside table, then grabbing his glasses and slipping them on. Harry could clearly recall the night a few nights ago when he'd been woken up by Petunia, as he'd woken her up with his screams.

'Boy, you better shut it before I-, Vernon shuts you up,' was the words he remembered leaving her whispering lips. Perhaps tonight he was lucky, and he'd kept his mouth shut during his slumber.

Harry took another glance at the mirror of his shirtless figure. He had taken to the habit of sleeping without his pyjamas thanks to the influence of his dorm mates Ron and Dean.

After having changed into something more comfortable, for him and the eyes of others, he made his way out of his room and down the stairs.

He had Quidditch, and most of all, Hogwarts to thank for forging his body from a skinny and lanky boy into a more acceptable slim teenager. Though it would take a lot more time and effort to recover the years of weight and muscle that he could have acquired if it hadn't been for the Dursley's style of accommodation.

'Oi, Potter,' called Dudley from behind him. Harry was kneeling down on the doorstep of number four, tightening his shoes. He was genuinely surprised Dudley was awake at all, given it was five in the morning and the sun was well behind the horizon.

'Morning Dudley. Sorry if I woke you.' Although it was unlikely given Harry had already had gone an entire week and a half without being interrupted thanks to his stealthy exit strategies, which involved tip toeing and very slow moving.

'You didn't,' replied Dudley. Harry stood up, satisfied with the tightness of his shoes and faced Dudley, and found himself surprised for the second time that morning.

Dudley was dressed in long sports shorts and a grey t-shirt. If Harry didn't know better, it would seem that Dudley came out to join him.

'Mind if I join you?' Harry, now bewildered, stood for a moment, silent. He ran the scenario's through his head: it might have been a trap that he's set up with his mates, or maybe he wanted to bring Harry far away to dispose of his body. Pondering for a few seconds, Harry concluded that even Dudley wasn't that out of it to form such plans. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, he nodded while rubbing the back of his head.

'Yeah alright. Just keep up,' Harry said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. With that, Harry turned around and hopped into a gentle jog, slow enough to allow Dudley to catch up.

The dawn of Surrey wasn't the greatest sight to behold but much better than what most would be accustomed to in the city of London. Here, people are granted the benefits of the countryside. The smell of trees and a gentle summer breeze, occasionally accompanied by the horrible England weather of abysmal cloudiness and rain. Although the benefits pale in comparison to Yorkshire or Devon.

Harry could barely feel his feet as they pushed him forward, the feeling has become so familiar that the mornings were habitual and routinely comfortable.

Unfortunately for Dudley, Harry had been furthering his jogs incrementally until he had a consistent 7-kilometre distance around the neighbourhood. The effect was apparent in the heaving behind Harry as they crossed what Harry assumed to be the first quarter point, the playground at Magnolia Road.

'We'll hold up here,' Harry called over his shoulder.

He barely heard Dudley's breathless 'Thank God.'

Dudley took a seat on the roundabout, causing a small thud and a little spin before stopped by his feet. Harry sat beside him, questions prepared for him.

'Why'd you join me, Dudley?' Harry asked plainly.

Dudley responded with a 'Huh?' Inclining Harry to repeat his question. His head clouded by exhaustion.

'Why did you decide to join me this morning, Dudley?' Dudley heaved a breath as he processed the question. It was clear that he'd expected the question at all as he let his head hang.

'I guess it can't be as simple as saying I just wanted to get a good workout in?' Dudley mused.

'No, not really. You could have gone alone and not with a freak.' Harry was surprised when he caught Dudley's wince when he spat freak.

'Look, Harry,' he paused. Harry could tell what he was trying to say was difficult as he kept looking down to the dirt beneath his feet, a motion Ron often pulled when he came to apologise to Hermione the several times over the years, and to him just last year after the first task.

'I'm trying to change. I'm sorry Harry. I'm sorry I hadn't done this earlier,' he sighed, relieved he'd finally gotten it out. Harry, too, was somewhat relieved, he wasn't the only one to want to change. He could relish in the fact he wasn't alone for once at the household. 'I didn't know any better when I was younger, but I should have stopped when the beatings started so long ago. It's been too long that my family has treated you like shite.'

He took another breath as he raised his head.

'You didn't deserve that, and you don't deserve a cousin that does that.'

Harry took his time, absorbing what his cousin has said. He wasn't a lie detector, but his words seemed more genuine than most of what he was fed last year.

'I still remember that night, nearly a decade from now. When we were kids. Knowing you as I do now, I understand how it'd happened. You ended up on the roof again,' Harry shivered, knowing where this led. 'Dad, he lost it. I know now it must've been an accident cause you'd never want to do anything to upset anyone. Like the year before last with Aunt Marge,' Dudley shifted in his seat once more. Harry could tell he was genuinely perturbed, perhaps more so than Harry.

'After Dad had gotten you down. He tossed you into the living and told mum and me to leave. I can still remember your screaming Harry. Your pleads...I'm sorry Harry.'

The memory had been with him since he was young, it was the reason he'd struggled to step up to Vernon up until Hogwarts admission.

'What sparked this?'

'Dad,' Harry raised an eyebrow. 'I'm his son, and I love him. But I won't let myself be anything like him.'

A moment of hesitation revealed itself as a caught breath out of Dudley's mouth. There was more to the story than he'd like to tell. The topic was sombre enough, and Harry didn't want to push.

'That's good. The world can only handle one Vernon Dursley.' The two shared an unexpected laugh on the roundabout, a comfort slowly building between the former enemies.

'We're cousins Harry. We're family. Whether they like it or not. Magical or not,' Dudley stood up and extended his hand to Harry. Harry was embarrassed to feel his tear ducts act up. In a desperate attempt to counter his emotional build up, he locked their arms at the forearms and shot to his feet. He then pulled him into a hug, which Dudley gladly reciprocated.

Instead of preventing the tears, it felt as if they were being squeezed out of him. He quickly pulled out of the hug and turned towards the sidewalk.

'That's a long enough break. Let's go,' Harry said as he got back into a jog and resumed his planned route.

Behind him, Dudley smiled, knowing Harry was welling up just like he was as he wiped a tear from his cheek.

* * *

'I can't believe you do this every morning,' wheezed Dudley, bent over and panted with his hands on his knees.

Harry nodded, lifting a glass of water to his lips while his free hand rests at the edge of the countertop as he leant back on it. Unlike Dudley, his red quidditch tee managed to maintain its original shade of colour. Dudley's selection of shirt for the morning meanwhile, not so lucky. Drenched under thick coats of sweat, the core victims being the pits, chest, and lower back.

The thirty-minute run allowed them to get home while Petunia was in the shower and Vernon still in his slumber.

The blinds, having been raised, graced the Dursley household with a warming glow from the rising sun. Whatever peace accumulated would soon be diminished with the unannounced entry of Petunia Dursley. Her annoyingly bushy-curled hair was so unkempt it rivalled Harry's hair. Which reminded the young man, he needed a haircut.

'Morning mum,' said Dudley, grabbing a pitcher of apple juice from the fridge.

'Morning Aunt Petunia,' followed Harry as he tried to remain cool and composed. Two things Petunia was struggling with this morning. It was, in fact, the first time she'd seen Dudley go without an opportunity to attack Harry verbally.

The matter wasn't brought up, but rather a very familiar command.

'You'd best be getting breakfast ready before Vernon shows up.'

Before Harry could respond, Dudley had finished placed the pitcher on the table and spoke up.

'Don't worry mum. I'm working on it.'

Dudley appeared to be full of surprises this summer according to Harry. Slightly more so that Dudley knew how to cook.

'You, sweetums? Don't be foolish, let the boy do it.'

'Could you give me a hand, Harry?' Dudley asked, ignoring his mother, his eyes pleading. Dudley hadn't actually known how to cook. He spent more time being the one that's fed than the one to feed.

'Right.'

Petunia left the kitchen, stunned and speechless, in a cross between infuriated and anxious.

The interaction for the next 15 minutes manifested itself into more of a lesson than a cooperative cooking session. Which meant Harry had to do most of the work, but not without teaching him along the way, and getting him to do the simple repetitive tasks like cracking a few eggs after him.

Dudley tried his best to keep up with Harry as he seemed to move at an astonishingly quick pace, the result of being berated to cook faster by the Dursleys over the years. He was amazed at his skilful use of the spatula on one pan and tongs on another as he manoeuvred around the kitchen grabbing various items like the butter, cooking oil and spices.

Sooner than he'd anticipated, there were three plates of peppered eggs with sausages and bacon laid out on the dinner table. Dudley, who felt pleased with how the morning came out to be, took a seat at the table. He was left confused when Harry motioned to leave the kitchen.

'Where you going?' Dudley asked.

'To my room. I reckon I've some studying to get started on.'

'You're not going to eat?'

'They're not meant for me, Dudley.' After feeling like an idiot for not counting the plates, Dudley frowned.

'You taught me a bit about cooking, I'll teach you a bit about sandwich making.' At this, Harry was definitely interested. Often when Dudley got hungry, and Petunia was busy, he'd put together a sandwich. By now, Harry would probably be correct in assuming he'd be pretty good at it.

He watched as Dudley grabbed bread, a butter knife, and a bottle of brown sauce from the fridge. Due to the simplicity of sandwich making, the Dursley's hadn't even considered teaching him.

He placed a slice of bread on a plate and scooped up some bacon and eggs off of his own plate to place on the slice. Then he took the brown sauce and poured thin lines on another slice of bread. He concluded by putting the two slices together and handing the masterpiece to Harry on a plate before taking a seat.

Harry inspected it, curious. He'd never in his entire time at the Dursley's, or at Hogwarts, seen or eaten a sandwich like this one.

Taking a bite out of the sandwich, his mood lightened. It was delicious and nothing like he'd ever tasted for breakfast at Hogwarts. The way the bread was complimented with various meats alongside the fantastic brown sauce giving it a whole new flavour.

'Good eh?' Dudley asked smugly, knowing that the expression of delight on Harry's face was an answer in itself. Harry couldn't help that this newfound connection with Dudley was having an effect on him, but before it could progress, the two were interrupted by a loud conversation approaching from the staircase.

On queue, the giant whale bearing the title of Head of the Dursley family came barging through the kitchen door. The loud bang as the door swung and hit the wall made Dudley jump in his chair while Harry turned in his chair, placing the sandwich on the plate.

'What is the meaning of this, boy?' the man bellowed, sure to allow his mouth to release an onslaught of saliva. Harry had sidestepped into the living room to answer his question, with a question.

'What've I done, Uncle Vernon?' Vernon seethed at his calm response.

He stepped to the side, moving his large frame so that he could point at his son.

'You've magicked my boy, that's what you've done you ungrateful freak.'

'I "magicked" Dudley? I'm not sure that's even a word, even in my world. Maybe bewitched is what you're thinking of.' His sassy response only further angered the whale that his face began to perspire and reach a darker shade of red.

'You let upon your freakish magic on my son, and I demand that you make him right!' he shouted at a decibel loud enough to wake up our nearest neighbours. Surely enough, Petunia tapped on his shoulder and gestured to lower his volume. Vernon's displeasure was announced through a low groan.

'I hadn't done anything to Dudley.'

'Bollocks! You'd gone and forced him to cook. Even have him make one of his sandwiches for you. Don't you lie to me boy!'

'First off, how might I have done that at all. You remember the last time I'd done magic, I'd nearly lost my magic. I'm not of age to use magic outside of school,' his explanation, all be it true, was not enough to calm the beast.

Just when Vernon was about to spit another one of his silly arguments, Dudley stepped in.

'Dad. Harry didn't do anything, please stop it.'

'Dudley, don't you hear what you're saying? Harry has done something to you-' he reached over and gripped Dudley's shoulder uncomfortably tight, 'you need to snap out of it!' he ended angrily, shaking his son.

Dudley pushed his hand away and stood across him at eye level.

'Dad! Harry did not do a thing. I'm giving Harry the respect he deserves. I'm tired of you two treating him like dirt.' Vernon stepped back at his lash.

'I should have stood up to you so long ago. Now leave Harry alone.' Vernon's red face did not fade away and returned to give Harry one hardened stare before grabbing a plate of food from the table set for him and leaving through the door, his booming steps up the stairs

Petunia, on the other hand, remained in the room and took a seat quietly at the table to begin picking at her own food. She would have joined Vernon if she hadn't had the habit to only eat at the lower levels, to not dirty the rooms above.

Harry approached Dudley, who was calming himself down by the doorway where he'd just had his first confrontation with his father. He placed a hand on his shoulder

'You didn't need to stand up for me, Dudley,' Harry said.

'No, I did. Things need to change around here, even if it starts like this.' Harry could tell Dudley was troubled by what he'd said to Vernon; it might have also been a given that it won't be the first time he'll have to do it.

'Thanks, mate.'

* * *

You'd think that growing up with parents that spoiled you in your childhood, that the ability to spend money would far exceed the ability to save. The contrary appeared to exist with Dudley Dursley.

Dudley received a generous amount of money from his dad for an allowance, and living one of the northernmost counties in Surrey, did not give him many places to spend it. Nonetheless, he did not get off to a good start when he'd spend his money on sweets and the like. As he grew up, he saw the benefits of saving his money for when he'd finally get to town, where more options made themselves known.

Such an occurrence was when Harry and Dudley took a short bus ride from Little Whinging to Staines, where Dudley introduced him to a cafe on Mustard Mill Road. Harry soon learnt that this was a place that he and his friends often went after school.

Harry sat across from Dudley at the cafe, and they ordered some nicely priced Mediterranean foods. Harry hadn't actually been outside of Privet Drive during his summers, with the notable exception of the last week of summer before his third year.

'Thanks for buying Dudley, I'll pay you back sometime. It's been a while since I've been to the bank.'

'No need, this is on me,' Dudley said.

'You needn't spoil me mate, I'm paying you back,'

'Suit yourself.'

Harry took a look around the restaurant. He often wondered what the towns and cities of England looked like, but he never had the chance. He'd reckon that he's seen more of magical Britain through Diagon Alley, Hogwarts and Hogsmeade.

'What's it like?'

'What's what like?'

'Y'know, here. Staines.'

He hadn't known much about Staines other than that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia often came here to do the groceries or shopping. Harry could remember it vividly as he would be released from the cupboard under the stairs to help them carry the bags from the car to the kitchen.

'It's just a small, simple town. Some stores, some restaurants and cafes like this one. Lots of scenery I reckon and the River Thames passes right through.'

They both took a moment to look out the window to observe the Staines Bridge and the few who were crossing at this time of day.

They'd finished their daily run and let a few hours pass before deciding today would be a good day to get out of the house and head into the nearby town.

Little Whinging wasn't popular for having anything more than homes and schools. Staines was the destination for anyone in Little Whinging to do anything really.

'Alright then. Anything special about this place other than you come here with your friends?' Dudley nearly flinched, as if he'd been caught red-handed when in reality it was an innocent question.

Dudley's mouth parted to speak but closed when his name was called from behind Harry. He immediately stood up, sending the table shaking slightly, which, with Harry's Seeker's reflexes, held down with both hands planted as he turned around to the female voice behind him.

'Ava!' he returned across the cafe, drawing a few looks from the other customers. Dudley approached a redheaded girl who, coincidentally, was dressed in a work uniform associated with the very cafe they were eating at.

He could distinctly hear her say with a thick Scottish accent that she hadn't seen him in weeks, only to hear Dudley reply in kind. A smile fell upon Harry's face as he watched the two chat, smiling at one another. He averted his gaze and brought a recently delivered cup of tea to his lips, half-expecting Dudley to return not alone.

'Here he is,' came Dudley's voice. Harry turned around to face the two standing next to him, Dudley appearing with an unusual amount of glow upon him. Up close, the Scottish lady's beauty did not go without notice. It was odd, finding himself compare her to Ginny Weasley, the only other young redhead girl he knew, of whom's beauty, paled in comparison to Ava.

'You must be Harry?' she asked, holding her hand out.

'The one and only,' Harry replied. His first instinct was to pull a Sirius and kiss her knuckles in greeting, but what he could only assume was his inner Remus told him to relax and shake her hand.

'I'm Ava, Dudley told me a bit about you,'

'Did he now?' he could only wonder if he'd told her about his magical properties. Instead of worry about it, he proceeded 'Well he hadn't mentioned you before.'

'I wouldn't expect him to, and honestly,' she bent down to a whisper 'I'd prefer it stays that way.' Harry caught her insinuation without a need for thought.

She was his little secret.

'I'm sorry by the way.'

'For?'

'Dudley told me about your parents,' she looked down at the ground at her flats 'I know what it feels like, to lose your parents at a young age you know.'

Harry now felt uncomfortable, leaving the two standing beside him as they ventured into a delicate topic. He gestured for the two to take a seat across from him, and thankfully they complied.

'I grew up here, in Staines with me gran after me maw and da got lost at sea. That was almost a decade from now.' He could tell she was trying to suppress her Scottish accent to make her sentences coherent to Harry, though she hadn't known that he'd had a Scottish Quidditch captain since his first year and that his head of house was Scottish. He'd had more than enough time to learn how to decipher what they were saying.

Though it was only polite to remain quiet at a time like this

'I'm sorry. I shouldn't make our introduction so sour,' Ava said, letting out a sniffle while Dudley rubbed her back gently.

'It's fine. I'm glad you told me. I think we're better off knowing we both have something like that in common. It's better knowing we're not alone.'

'Yeah,' she said, looking over at Dudley. Before the moment could descend into awkwardness, a steward came over with fresh sandwiches and salad. Ava bade them both goodbye and returned to work, no doubt spurred on by the look from her colleague.

Harry had a few things to say, a few questions to ask, but the need for food superseded the need for answers.

Eventually, having ploughed through a foot long roast beef sandwich and a Caesar salad, the two were to some degree, ready to go back to talking about serious topics.

'So...Ava.'

'Yeah.'

'Scottish Girls, eh?' Harry asked with a grin as he took a sip of his tea.

'It's not like that,' he replied, chuckling.

'I get why you didn't tell me about her.'

Silence.

'It was her that sparked the change?' Harry asked, knowing full the answer.

Dudley nodded and let his head hang, as if shameful. He felt he had every right to be. His finding of a soul could be owed directly to a woman.

'Who would've thought?'

Dudley raised his head.

'The heart of a man strummed alive, by a woman,' Harry continued. Dudley went to drop his head once more until Harry placed a hand on his shoulder.

'Lucky bloke you,' said Harry, smiling, which Dudley happily returned.

* * *

Today was a normal Sunday, in a sense. The morning run went without a hitch, Harry and Dudley both highly capable of running ten kilometres without a break. They've both come a long way since their confrontation a couple of weeks ago, it was surprising to the two how much their bodies could change with a decent and consistent workout.

Vernon had lost his will to explode at Harry since his own son decided to oppose him. Petunia fell into a cowardly middle ground as her own morals internally challenged her left and right. To Harry, it felt like a wave of peace at Number Four.

It was midday, and Vernon was relaxed in the living room watching the telly with his wife on the couch beside him. Dudley had left to meet with Ava in town an hour ago, leaving Harry on his own.

He occupied himself in his room, studying transfiguration, with the fullest of intentions of working on the essay assigned to him at the end of the year.

Despite the tragedy that was the third task, Hogwarts professors had to maintain professionalism and felt it fitting to assign homework over the summer, except for Herbology, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and oddly enough, Potions.

His mind was buried in his textbook, in the area of the second branch of transfiguration, Vanishment, when he was yanked out by the roar downstairs.

'Boy! Get down here!'

Harry, no longer startled by his loud summons, begrudgingly obliged and left his room.

He was graced by the sight of Vernon Dursley clutching his hand, bent over a cream coloured letter, glaring at it. His aunt was behind the whale, staring at the envelope with equal intensity.

'What is the meaning of this?' Vernon barked. Not relying on Vernon for answers, he looked towards Petunia.

'The envelope. It burned in his hands,' Petunia stammered.

Harry only looked amusingly at the envelope on the floor. Perhaps a prank from the twins, to burn the hands of any Muggle who handles it.

Although, the quality of the envelope intrigued him. It had the property of luxury and properness. The Dursleys backed away when Harry approached to kneel and inspect it, fully cognizant of its apparent danger.

It had an elegant, feathery border around its rectangular frame. At its centre was his name, _Harry James Potter_ , and beneath it, the address of the Dursleys, similarly to the letter(s) he received from Hogwarts regarding his admission, albeit the "Cupboard under the stairs".

'Your mail cursed me it did. Burned me when I'd tried to open it,' Vernon snarled.

Harry chuckled.

'You find that funny boy?!' he exclaimed, dropping his exaggeration of pain in his hand as he stood tall as if ready to belt Harry.

Harry bent over and picked up the envelope.

'You weren't cursed, Uncle. Maybe you shouldn't be snooping around other people's mail,' he chuckled, waving the envelope at him. Harry took a glance at the rose red seal, which bore symbols highly reminiscent of the ancient runes he'd seen Hermione studying, surrounding a small coat of arms that had several unidentifiable symbols, all except a fleur-de-lis.

'Funny how a bunch of symbols can throw you off an envelope,' Harry mused, turning around to head up the stairs.

'Don't you turn your back on me,' Harry stopped midway up the stairs 'You told me your freaks wouldn't be sending you any posts this summer, no less on a Sunday.'

'I don't know what to say to you, Uncle Vernon. I have no idea who sent this letter.' That was his last words before he retreated back to his room, eager to open the mysterious envelope.

He nearly slammed the door behind him, inciting a bright hoot from Hedwig in her cage. Even she could sense his happiness. Though, the joy soon died out as he expected the worst.

What if it were a letter from Mr Diggory himself, calling him out as a murderer?

What if it were the news asking for his details on the night, which would only be twisted into something worse?

What if it were from Dumbledore saying someone else had died for him?

He was on the verge of tossing the envelope in the bin, but his will to change said other wise. Taking one last glance at the unfamiliar seal, he tore it open and pulled a folded letter from its confines.

Written beautifully on the back of the folded letter:

From Fleur

Strange wasn't the word he could use to describe the letter. It wasn't nearly as strong enough to describe the occurrence. He remembered Fleur as a fellow champion, the older sibling to the girl he pulled from the lake, a student of the French school he felt tired of trying and failing, to pronounce, and a Veela that called him a "leetle boy".

He felt a twinge of annoyance in remembering being called such a degrading term. He had gone through so much more than any of the champions combined could fathom, yet Fleur dared to call him "leetle".

His anger was misguided, flared in the mishmash that was being a Hogwarts champion.

The last time he'd talked to Fleur was the end of the year before she boarded the carriage back to Beauxbatons. She'd given him a teary-eyed hug, as she proclaimed both her thanks and sorrows. He'd replied that he was sorry too, and that was the end of that.

He was always amazed at the fact that he couldn't feel the allure that was dragging Ron and every other hot blooded male in the school to her. Sure, he'd found her attractive, but he never felt that urge to go running at her without thought or reason.

Hermione was proud of him for having a mind, unlike the third member of their golden trio. Then another question arose in his head:

How did she get his address?

Reality came rushing back as Hedwig loudly hooted once more. She too was eager to see what was written in the letter. Harry could never make sense of the amount of personality his owl had.

He flipped the letter over, to find paragraphs of astounding calligraphy across the paper. It read:

 _Dear Harry_

 _I hope this letter finds you well. I think that is what you English say. This is Fleur Delacour if you cannot read my signature on the back. Hermione helped me in getting this letter to you. It took several owls from the Weasels to the Granger house for me to learn your address as it appears your best friend Ronald forgot your address. It took a long while of convincing, but they managed to see that my letter to you to be safe._

 _They told me that it wasn't safe to letter you this summer because of your ministry of magic and other sick people. But my family's owl is special you see, we can not be tracked by your ministry, or it will be a violation of privacy on my family, which will be very bad for your ministry._

 _So I finally got a letter to you! I wish I could have asked for your address at the end of the school year, but there was not enough time. How is your summer? What is it like living with muggles? How are you handling yourself? I hope you're doing okay. I wonder if you're wondering why I am sending you a letter at all._

 _To put it easy, I want to talk to you. This is me being serious now. You saved my sister and me last year, and I hope to return the favour. I doubt that it would be easy for me to save you, but perhaps I could help you save yourself. There are what you English call "perks," of being part of my family. I intend to abuse it to help you. I hope that doesn't sound too menacing._

 _I really do wish you accept this offer. But if not, I hope we can keep owling each other._

 _You must thank my father for helping me write this letter. He is better at English than I am. If you do, and I hope you do reply, please give the letter to our owl._

 _Amicalement,  
Fleur Isabelle Delacour_

Harry couldn't hold back the smile gracing his face. It's not only been a long time since he'd gotten a letter from a friend, but he'd finally gotten some good news. Someone wants to help him. Nobody from the magical world had even considered helping him at all this summer, no less even contacting him.

It was dangerous though. Involving Fleur in his life would only put her in more danger than she was in when she was a champion for her school in the Triwizard tournament. He cared for his friends above anyone else, he would do anything in his power to keep them on a high shelf, away from danger and from him.

What she offered was vague but did not fail to outline the benefits. The way she brings up her family, being able to provide him with assets to build him up into something he would need to be for the incoming war that always led back to him and Lord Voldemort.

It was too good to pass up, but that was exactly why he couldn't take it. He didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve to be placed in an unnecessary position of risk for his benefit.

If ever he the chance to choose between the safety of his friends and the well-being of himself, he would choose the former every time.

Harry got off his bedside and took a seat by his desk and pulled his quill from the ink pot. He already had a spare piece of parchment on the table, ready for his next essay, but that would have to wait.

 _Dear Fleur,_

 _I'm glad I received your letter. I'm doing fine. My summer here has been a lot better than what it's been in the past. My cousin and I have finally become good friends, and things are looking alright here. Though I cannot forget about the night in the graveyard. No words can express how I feel about what happened there and what happened to Cedric._

 _I hope you're doing well as well. How's your little sister, Gabrielle, doing? How are you coping after everything? I know things must be hard after what happened in the tournament. Nonetheless, I know you're strong. You are a champion._

 _I'm sorry that I have to tell you that I'll have to decline your offer. Not in spite or anything of that sort. I just can't have anyone else risking their lives trying to help me. Not after what happened last year. This is my fight, and I don't want you to land smack in the middle of it when I can place you out of it altogether._

 _This is what I believe, and I hope you understand. My friends matter too much to me._

 _Thank you for taking the time to send me your letter. I know it must've been a struggle trying to get my address. Ron must have swooned when he received your owl. You can always rely on Hermione to get things right. I'd love to continue to owl you if I wouldn't be too much of a bother._

 _Thank you Mr Delacour for aiding your daughter in writing this letter._

 _Au revouir?  
Harry James Potter_

Harry felt embarrassed at his attempt to say goodbye in French, but it was overshadowed by his writing of his name on the back, which was slow and accurate, as he tried to make his name look presentable to the witch.

This had never happened when he owled his friends, he often scrawled his name on the back and sent the letter on its way, never taking the time to make sure that his name was ever legible.

He folded the letter in thirds after waiting a while to let the ink dry and slipped it into an envelope. His envelope lacked the superiority Fleur's had, but it was all that he had. The anxiety from sending the letter followed him down the stairs.

He finally shrugged off the unnecessary anxiousness and searched for Fleur's owl. Before his hand reached the knob of the front door, he heard the brief flapping of wings.

Opening the door, he was surprised to find a snowy white owl that barely differed from his own Hedwig, on the doormat of Number Four. It was awkward to say the least for Harry Potter, to be eye to eye with an owl that looked splittingly like his own, all for except that the eyes were amber in colour.

'You must be her owl,' Harry said crouching down to rub against the neck of the owl, who rubbed back. It acted as Hedwig does. He pondered whether it was a twin brother or sister, or perhaps he was biased in thought towards all snowy white owls.

'Here's the letter,' he gave the owl the letter and soon it was on its way. He couldn't edit or take back what he wrote now that it was on its way to its recipient. The anxiety soon returned, he wondered if he sounded too rude or brash.

Meanwhile, in Paris, there was a French witch wrapped up in her duvet thinking the same thing.


	2. Midsummer Surprise

**Note from Allen Harding:** I appreciate the positive feedback. I'm still working on the direction of this story, and my respect for the community makes me want to release the best possible version of my work.

Again, I do not own anything in this story other than the original characters and the plot, all other assets belong to Joanne Rowling. If you haven't read her books, I highly recommend you to leave this story to read the original stories, hopefully on paper as well.

If you lot have any questions, suggestions, or simply anything you'd like to know, feel free to leave a question in a review or PM me. I read all my reviews and PMs so feel free to contact me. I do encourage interested readers to check out the polls on my profile. I'm not the best at making decisions, and I hope to connect with my readers.

Bear with me when I say that perceive this Harry Potter as you would in the Order of the Phoenix film rendition (Harry Potter acting as a 15 year old when he is 18 years of age). It's odd picturing some scenes without this context. Or at least it is for me. I'm odd. Help me.

* * *

 **2\. Midsummer Surprise**

'You've never told me about her,' said Dudley, his elbows on the railing of the bridge, the only thing standing between him and falling into the river Thames.

'I haven't really told you much about my magical life,' Harry retorted, his back on the railing beside his cousin.

'That too.'

'I can't tell if you're asking...?' Harry wondered as he counted the handful of dimly lit lampposts across the bridge.

'I am,' he turned around, giving Harry a pat on the back, 'Well chop-chop then, spill.'

Harry and Dudley had gone out to Staines again, this time in the later hours of the day. So rather than being in the soft embrace of sunlight, they were relaxing under the starry sky of Southwest England, a fringe benefit of living in the suburbs outside of Greater London.

He'd brought up the letter as he'd received it in his absence. It appeared as an interesting topic at the time: receiving a letter from an older, not to mention beautiful, French witch during his summer. It only slightly tapped on the subject of magic, a topic Harry wished to avoid altogether, for Dudley's sake anyway. He ignored the length of which the magical and muggle world were interwoven as he had the misguided intention of trying to divide the two for Dudley. Safety was what he thought he was guaranteeing his cousin the less they discussed magic, but it was in effect, doing nothing at all.

Perhaps not telling him the dangers of his world was a danger in and out of itself Harry finally reasoned within, even if it had to begin with a beautiful witch from France.

'Her name is Fleur,' Harry started 'She goes to a magical school in France, but I'd bet you've figured that out already.'

Dudley nodded, even though Harry wasn't even facing him at this point, but rather down at the river, observing the intricate ripples caused by the underside stone of the bridge they resided on.

'When I'd gotten back from school, I'd just finish taking part in a dangerous tournament alongside three others, Fleur included. One tournament, three schools, three tasks to complete. With "eternal glory" as the prize.' Harry tried to keep it simple for him.

'Three schools, yet four competitors?' He was glad Dudley picked up on it.

'Three "champions" had already been chosen by an old magic cup. This cup selects the champions at random. One from each of the schools. After that, my name came out.'

'So the cup was faulty?' Dudley asked, trying to follow.

'Not exactly. Someone tricked the cup with the intention of getting me into the tournament.'

'But why?'

'That, Dudley, is a much bigger story. I'll keep it easy for you and stick to this year only. You see, the tournament was so dangerous that our government regulated the age of entry, with the minimum being 17 years old.'

Dudley's mouth opened and closed, stopping himself from asking the stupid question.

'Exactly. I'm not of age as you can tell. You were born a month before me, you should know. Hey!' hopping up and looking at Dudley 'Your birthday is a few days from now,' Harry realised.

'It's tomorrow Harry.'

'Same thing, anyway,' Dudley rolled his eyes and smiled 'An older person entered the tournament using my name.'

'But how did the magic cup pick your name when there were already three chosen.' At this, Harry honestly did not know the answer, so he gave him an answer that would make sense to Dudley.

'Magic.'

They stared at one another.

'Right. Magic.' Dudley thought it made sense and so it passed.

'So what we all thought was that someone entered me into the tournament to die. Nothing new-'

'Nothing new? What?'

'Like I said, it's part of a much bigger story too complicated to explain in a short amount of time. Let's just say it's not the first time someone wanted me dead,' Harry saw Dudley pale slightly 'and for sure, not the last.'

Harry didn't feel like shoving all this information into him all at once, to prevent breaking him. So he took a moment.

'I'm good. Go on.'

'Okay so let's gloss over the tasks. Just some dragons, mermaids, grindylows, and other magical beasts.' He knew glossing over the tasks using the word dragon lightly wasn't a good idea, but he hoped that if he moved quickly enough, Dudley wouldn't stop him 'As it turned out, the person who entered me into the tournament had the intention of me living, not dying.'

'Dragons?'

'Yeah. Dragons. Think of them like giants bats with tails and spit fire. More like one Dragon for everyone.'

'Yeah I get the concept, and they expected you to live?' Dudley asked eyes widened.

'They didn't expect, they made sure of it,' he balled up his hand into a fist at the memory of Barty Crouch Jr 'They made sure at every turn, I would have an advantage.'

'How?'

'A bad guy disguised as a good guy mentored through the whole thing,' Harry said vaguely 'Looking back at it, I should've known.'

'But you couldn't have.'

Funnily enough, even Dudley understood that more than Harry himself.

'But I should have!' Harry cried. It was already dark out, and his voice could possibly wake up the residents of riverside homes.

'I survived. Through all the tasks because of his guidance, and I fell right into their hands. It was a trap.' Harry enunciated 'I fell for a trap, and I had to watch a friend die right before my eyes because of it.'

This time, Dudley let the silence hang, giving Harry time to recover.

'You told me yourself Harry, you want to change, that's the point of this summer innit? Change. Hearing all this, I understand now.'

'No you don't. A war is coming, Dudley. Magical or not, people are going to feel it. There's so much more that you don't know.' Harry hadn't told him the whole truth about his parents and what had happened to them, and who killed them, and that that same person was after him.

'There's so much more I don't need to know to know that your change is not meant for you. You want to change so you can better protect, that's all. You've always been highly protective of the things you care about Harry. I've seen it.' Dudley tried to soften the conversation 'Your outbursts when anyone attacks your parents' name, for instance. I reckon Aunt Marge got the worst of it.'

The boys laughed. It was horrific in the past, but when they thought about it today, she'd gotten what she deserved.

'I understand more now because I too have people worth protecting.'

'Ava...'

'Yeah. I changed because and for her. But this is much bigger than that for you isn't it?' Dudley rhetorically asked. Harry looked quizzically at Dudley 'I heard what you told mum that day, about the man who killed your parents and is out to get you.'

'It's not that simple.'

'Or maybe it is,' Dudley interjected. He pointed aggressively at Harry 'You need to stop overthinking it and beating yourself up over and over again.'

Dudley calmed himself down.

'You found a purpose, but you keep over thinking and broadening it. Making it more and more complicated. I know I don't know you perfectly well, but I know over-complication when I see it because my mother does it all the time. I guess it's in the Evans' blood.' Dudley let off a light chuckle. 'I can say truthfully that I seriously lack a majority of understanding of your world. But that aside, what's so difficult about saying your purpose for change is to protect the ones you care about while kicking the arse of the man who killed your parents.'

Dudley spoke with a staggering amount of passion and wisdom, forming sentences Harry never thought would ever be said by anyone, not even Professor Dumbledore. He felt a mix of humour and stress in his words as he tried to convince the jury of Harry to agree.

'You may be young, but with the shit you've been through and the power you have, what's to stop you from doing what's right?'

* * *

'You called, Papa?' the witch asked, peeking into the study with her tired eyes. The sun was shining brightly through the window, illuminating the desk at the end of the room. It was the morning in the middle of summer in France when the eldest daughter of the family was summoned by her father through their house-elf.

'Oui, ma chérie,' he said, lifting an envelope from a stack and waved it, gesturing her to come and get it 'Our little hero, Mr Potter, has owled back.'

Her father's accent was annoyingly coherent in English to the lady at the door. She envied that he along with her little sister was multitudes more understandable than she was, and she was a well eight years older than her too. It appeared that it was just her and her mother that struggled to speak without their ever so thick accent. It was one of the reasons why she barely even talked to the students from Durmstrang and Hogwarts, despite her best friend's badgering.

Nonetheless, and rather unwillingly, the witch's eyes flared to life at the reply from someone other than Hermione. She and Hermione long since put the irrational past conflicts behind them when they befriended each other over letters. These conflicts do undoubtedly include her dislike of Veela's.

Best of all, she too spoke French fluently and had French heritage. So their friendship flourished in their letters, be it Hermione could only send hers with their owl. A disadvantage of being muggleborn unfortunately. Up till now, she'd been using the Weasley owl, Errol, and only recently, Pigwidgeon.

Hermione was slow to trust, but she learnt to trust the quarter-Veela quicker than most since she was a fellow champion and friend to her best friend.

The Witch excitedly grabbed the envelope from her father's hands and said her thanks before leaving. She made her way to the kitchen, where she expected her mother, Appoline, to be preparing breakfast for her sister and her.

'Anuzzer letter from 'ermione?' her mother asked as she wordlessly charmed the dishes to wash in the sink.

'Non, Maman,' the witch said as she pulled a stool back to sit at the kitchen island.

'Aimee?' she tried again.

Aimee is a close family friend. They haven't seen each other since the carriage ride back to Beauxbatons. Nor owled each other.

'It is from 'Arry, Maman,' the answer came, putting an end to the guesses.

'Oh okay. Well before you get to read zat letter-' Appoline snatched the letter out of her hand, inciting a jaw drop from the young lady 'or eat. You go wake up your sister.'

'Maman...' she whined, her face dropping into an exaggerated pout.

'Shoo...' Appoline shooed her with her wand, ushering her out of the kitchen. She groaned and begrudgingly left the kitchen to enter the high-ceilinged vestibule.

She rushed up the arched grand staircase with the intention of dragging her little sister down to the kitchen. It was summer, and her little sister has been spending the majority of it cooped up in her room, sleeping. Not waking up until late into the morning, which could be a couple hours from now if she doesn't wake up. The older witch wasn't going to wait that long to read Harry's letter or eat.

'Gabby!' she screamed in the hall on the way to her bedroom.

No reply.

Turning to the door of her bedroom, she entered quietly. She was sleeping, peacefully and gently on her bed, curled up under the covers.

The witch at the doorway was getting fidgety. She's waited all summer to get a letter to and back from the stubborn little hero of hers, and it was all put on hold because her little sister was a lazy bird.

She crept up to her bedside and screamed as she leapt into the air towards her bed

'Gabby!'

Her frame easily squashed the smaller witch, sending her into a fit as she is startled awake under the weight, be it light, of her older sister. The two squealed and laughed as they tossed and turned on the bed with only the duvet between them.

Eventually, the carnage came to a close as they both caught their breaths on their own side of the bed.

'Merde! Fleur! What are you doing?'

'Oi!' she flicked her little sister's nose 'Watch your language!'

'Faux cul,' Gabrielle muttered.

'Oui, but I am ze older one,' Fleur said, grinning. 'Come on!'

'Why are you in such a hurry?' She asked, landing on the balls of her feet as she pushed off her bedside. Fleur had already gotten back on her feet and was pulling her sister by the wrist.

'Because I'm 'ungry and maman won't let me eat if you don't come down,' Fleur moaned.

'Carry me!' Gabby asked sweetly. Fleur looked down at her sister, her bright blue eyes begging her not to, but having no effect on her little sister.

'Fine...'

Gabrielle hopped up and grabbed her sisters shoulders from behind while she caught her and kept her steady. It was not the first time she carried her little sister, but Gabrielle was definitely much too old to be carried by her older sister.

Finally, they made it to the kitchen, where the food was finally done, and their mother was waiting for them. In her wait, she decided to get ahead of her daughter by reading Harry's letter to Fleur.

To anyone, it would be nothing to be embarrassed about, there wasn't anything compromising in the letter, they hardly knew each other for there to be.

To Fleur, a sudden instinct of offence rose as she reached over and snatched the unfolded letter out of her mother's hands.

'Muzzer!'

Appoline only giggled at her eldest daughter's response before handing her youngest a plate with various bread.

'Oh, so you're hungry for a letter from a boy, ma sœur?' Gabrielle teased as she looked at the back of the letter that bore the name: Harry.

'Gabby!' Fleur squealed again, her eyes shifting back and forth between her sister and mother, embarrassed and her face rapidly reddening.

She grabbed a croissant from Gabrielle's plate and stormed out of the kitchen, making her way to the library, which was on the ground floor in the opposite wing.

It wasn't that she was desperate to get a letter from a boy like Gabrielle stated, it was that she was eager to help the one person who needed more help than anyone right now. She was part of a handful of individuals that believed Harry's account at the graveyard.

That alongside her obligation to help him, perhaps even along the term "life debt" being owed. After all, he did save her in the maze.

What most did not know about the third task, was that if you did not signal your need of rescue, whatever horror resided in the maze would be well within their rights to take your life. The Triwizard Tournament was, of course, relentless in this sense.

There may be occurrences when you are incapable of signalling. Which was directly applicable to the Beauxbatons Champion...

 _'Rennervate,' the Scottish woman uttered with her wand pointed at her chest._

 _She reanimated in an instant, her body rising to a sitting up position with her chest heaving and out of breath._

 _Above her was standing the concerned members of her family and the half-giant headmistress Madame Maxime towering above them._

 _'Get zem out! Get zem out please!' Fleur warned, then entering the embrace of her mother who was kneeling beside her. The circle around her backed away to give her breathing room._

 _'What happened Miss Delacour?' McGonagall asked the distraught witch._

 _'Zere is anuzzer wizard. 'e attacked me. It is not safe.'_

 _'Merlin's beard,' came Amos Diggory's voice from the crowd._

 _'You must rest Miss Delacour, we will investigate,' McGonagall looked over her shoulder and around, looking for someone 'Where is Moody?'_

 _'I don't know Professor, he was here, and now he's not,' Seamus Finnigan, notorious pyromaniac of Hogwarts, said._

 _'He's probably waiting around the maze to relieve more students of the task,' she suggested._

 _Fleur had tears streaming down her face as she buried it in her mother's chest. The horrifying experience of being attacked by a tall, bulky figure in the maze. Catching her surprise around the corner as if she was being searched for unlike the other threats in the maze that were merely waiting to be within proximity to attack._

 _'You're a lucky one Miss. If Mr Potter hadn't cast the periculum charm, we might never have found you,' the short elderly wizard, Filius Flitwick said behind her. Fleur turned around to face him._

 _'Really? 'ow do you know it 'e 'oo cast it?'_

 _'I was in the vicinity on my broom, I heard him cast it,' Flitwick mused as he walked away to join the other Professors…_

The obligation to help him however she would be a weak way of putting it. She owed him a life debt. What better way to relieve yourself of a life debt than to give someone a summer in France, and not only that but the ability to use magic and train him to protect himself. At least, that was the plan.

In her letters to Hermione, she asked with her on how to serve the life debt, and she replied with: help him however you can, we can't do anything from our end. They settled on a magical summer vacation, outside of Privet Drive. She had a warded home in Northern France that could grant Harry the freedom to learn and use magic, primarily in the area of defence. As a recent graduate of Beauxbatons, it enabled her all the time and ability in the world to make it happen. Also, her upbringing assured her ability to protect herself with the training several tutors.

Fleur finally took a seat on the sofa in the library and began to read the letter. By the time she finished reading the letter and letting out a restrained giggle at his attempt of a goodbye in French, she felt a combination of annoyed and frustrated.

Hermione had warned her about Harry's behaviour towards any form of help. If it were outside of Harry's little trio, or the Marauders, or Hagrid, he would surely decline. Not only that but how he said he wanted to protect her. It annoyed her, being treated like a damsel in distress as the English put.

According to her, it was not his place to decide if she could help him or not. Men don't have the final say because of their gender. Soon, her thoughts were directed towards gender bias instead of Harry's actual intentions.

She recalled the words from Hermione's letter: If he does not want help, force it upon him. Eventually, he'll submit. How else do you think he gets his homework done?

* * *

The green bolt, brighter than any tree shot across the air, his eyes tracking it all the way as it caught the male standing beside him squarely in the barely heard the last breath leave the man's lips as he fell to his knees and his body falling limply to the ground. It was unlike any spell or curse he'd learnt, but it was all too familiar to him.

The loud thump of his body falling beside him, the face of the Hufflepuff champion beside him, staring at him through the now lifeless, hollow grey eyes. The urge to react in fear was overwhelming, the pain in his abdomen going numb in the eerie silence that followed the last breath of a man he knew for months. In the man's last actions, he rushed to his side to check if he was alright. A loyal badger until the end.

His eyes opened and stared at the ceiling once again. To some degree, hoping that it would fall on him. He'd once again suffered through the terrors of the graveyard in his dreams. The life vanishing from the eyes of Cedric Diggory as he stumbled onto the ground next to him. The morning felt stale, sour as he pushed himself off the bed to get dressed for the morning run.

When he met Dudley downstairs, Harry could tell that he was well aware of his recent nightmare. Harry's face expressed the definite mood of not wanting to talk about it. They'd acted like nothing had happened and proceeded to do their run and chat as per normal. The words from his cousin the night before followed him over the restless night. He thought about it thoroughly over their run.

'I'm glad you told me,' Dudley panted 'About the other world.'

'I should have a while ago. You have the right to know how much danger you're in just by running next to me,' Harry said as he slowed the pace of their jog so that they could talk better.

'Good to know. I guess it just adds a little more spice to my life,' he said as he gave a laugh between breaths.

'I hope you can handle that much spice, mate,' added Harry, bringing his hand to his forehead to messily wipe his sweaty forehead.

'Hey, so, that jersey of yours,' Dudley mentioned, pointing to the shirt he was wearing, a visible sweat building in the red shade of the shirt.

The workout fell into normalcy, but Dudley's words still flew astray in his mind. It glowered at him, smacking him upside the head as he continually tries to blame himself for everything, and finally, doubt himself. Screaming at him to act rather than mope around. Many of the conflicts in his life could be attributed to people associated with the Dark Lord, but there was no denying a large percentage of them were between him and himself. If it wasn't Tom Marvolo Riddle, his biggest enemy was himself.

He wasn't sure when the conversation starting with a French witch sending him a letter had gone awry, but it had. Speaking of a French witch...

'I don't suppose this is just a random owl,' asked Dudley, pointing up at the snowy white owl perched on the top of Vernon's Vauxhall estate.

Dudley was sitting on his bottom, resting on the grass of Number Four's yard when he'd gestured at the owl. Their workout had concluded and finally returned to number four. Dudley chose the green while Harry just paced around the pavement.

'You'd be correct in your suppositions Dudley,' Harry answered, picking the letter out of the owl's grasp. It was becoming increasingly difficult to suppress his excitement from getting a reply from Fleur, so he hurried into the house.

'Tell her hello from the birthday boy,' Dudley called.

'Gotcha, _dudders_.' Harry acknowledged, enunciating his most hated nickname. What could be worse than having a nickname so unbelievably similar to a cow's udders?

'Arse.' Harry heard Dudley utter as he jogged up the stairs.

Closing the door to his bedroom behind him, he flung the letter onto his desk, hitting the base of Hedwig's cage. He felt sorry for having to keep an owl like Hedwig caged as she glared at him with her

He peeled off of his long-sleeved Quidditch under shirt and threw it to the corner in his room by the door. Harry continued to be grateful for bringing his Quidditch clothes back to Surrey, as they fit him better than a majority of the clothes he'd been handed down by the Dursleys. Even though Hermione took the time to resize his wardrobe in the Gryffindor common room last year after they learnt the transfiguration spell from Professor McGonagall in class that same year.

The refreshing breeze of the room cooled him down before he took a seat. It's almost been an entire month since he's started the whole working out routine, and it was beginning to have a visible effect on him. Though it does not go without mention the fact he's been eating a lot better since his access to food in the house.

He resisted the urge to slouch, keeping his back straight against the wooden chair. Proud that his shoulders weren't droopy and that his stomach was flat instead of concaved. He didn't feel like a skinny teenager anymore, and it felt good.

Without delay, he peeled through the seal on the back of the envelope and pulled the folded letter out from within. It was a near replica of the one he'd received a few days ago. Down to the beautiful signature on the back. At this point, Harry convinced himself that it was just what the French do.

The tone of the letter the moment he reached the second paragraph was highly reminiscent of Hermione's letters, as there were hints of disappointment and agitation like she was judging him once again for not starting on his Charms essay. An essay Harry could proudly state was finished already.

Although, it wasn't a letter from Hermione, clearly. This was Fleur.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I think I failed to point out that Hermione and I have become good friends, and we've talked a lot, about you in particular. She made me aware that you prefer to not receive help from others._

 _Unfortunately for you, I agree with Hermione on one point. Since you don't want me to help you because you think I am a weak girl that can barely protect herself just because she was found stunned in the maze and you had to save her like a damsel in distress, I will have to take matters into my own hands._

 _Also, it is spelt Au Revoir, Harry._

 _Amicalement,_

 _Fleur_

Harry took a worried gulp at the direction the letter took. He never intended to cause such offence to Fleur, and now he not only feared what happened to their friendship but by what she meant by taking matters into her own hands.

He searched his drawers for a scrap parchment and drew his quill, nearly knocking the lamp and ink pot. Harry was in a state of panic as he tried to draw up a quick reply before it was too late.

 _Dear Fleur,_

 _I deeply apologise for what I said. I didn't mean to offend you. I did not mean it that way. I do not perceive you as weak or as a damsel in distress. To be honest, I hadn't even put much thought, or memory into saving you during the maze. I never saw it that way. I would have done the same thing if it had been Krum._

 _Please don't do anything rash. I really don't need your help, I'm handling myself well. There's really nothing you need to do. As for Hermione, she's always looked out for me and all, but that's when she was able and near. I don't know if I'm making any sense to you right now. All I'm trying to say is that I can do this on my own._

 _Anyways, it's my cousin's birthday today, and he says hi. I need to figure out the whole present thing today, so I'm going to end it here I guess._

 _From,_

 _Harry_

Harry read it thrice over to make sure that this time, he didn't approach her in any way that would cause offence to her. He'd spent so much time worrying about the letter that he'd forgotten that nearly half an hour has passed by and their owl was probably waiting for him.

Getting another envelope and signing it, he rushed down the staircase and out the front door to find the owl on the doormat once again, waiting for him. It was as if the owl knew when Harry was finished and on his way. Probably due to the ruckus he made to get down the stairs.

'Sorry girl,' he said instinctively as he crouched down. He then received an aggressive peck and hoot from the owl 'Okay, boy I guess.'

The owl responded with a pleased look, then yanked the letter out of Harry's hand with his beak and picked it up with his talons.

Soon, Harry was looking at a white blur in the sky, flying south to deliver a much-hurried letter.

* * *

By the time the letter from Harry Potter reached Château de Delacour, it was Fleur had already been dead set on her plans. She read it, and the only thing that changed was that she'd be taking one extra item along with her.

She collaborated with her new friend Hermione weeks ago to establish a plan that would benefit him the greatest and relieving her of her life debt. All while not interfering with whatever plan Dumbledore may have in-store for him.

The elderly professor may have told his friends that they mustn't contact him, but what he doesn't know, can not hurt him. It took a while to convince Hermione of such a plan that would somewhat go against the wishes of Albus Dumbledore, but eventually, she saw that Harry needs help, now more than ever, and if he was not going to let her, she might as well invite the aid of a friend that can.

Their letters were what Hermione would describe as brilliant. Most of the time, they were highly thoughtful and intellectual. Not often that Fleur and Hermione could talk to someone that appeared to be on the same level. It was equally shocking to the ladies at each others brilliance. Fleur being the eldest daughter of a wealthy French family while also being the top of her class, and Hermione being the top of her class four years straight while being muggleborn. How much they had in common, despite the differences, spurred a powerful friendship.

Fleur was standing in her room, the only light coming from the lamp at her bedside. She stared at the standing mirror, inspecting herself. She was questioning herself like the typical female would before leaving: Did she look alright? Would it make her stand out? Did she need more or fewer layers over her body?

Fashion was one of her strong suits, as it was one of the aspects she was brought up on: looking acceptable and great in front of others. What else would people expect from the eldest daughter of a _Pilier de Noblesse_ family. Though it was one of many things she hated to show, only second to her veela heritage.

She didn't often visit Britain; the last time she could recall being there other than for the Triwizard Tournament would be a family vacation in Brighton. That was nearly five years ago today.

Dressed in an orange plaid shirt with tight dark blue jeans, the most casual summer look she could throw together without arousing too much attention from a crowd. She was hoping to bring along sunglasses and a hat to shield her face. Her veela aura could only be suppressed so much. The strength of muggles against her aura pales in comparison to magical folk. Shielding her face, and most of all, her eyes, would surely suppress the aura. So she grabbed a pair of cat-eye sunglasses on her dresser and shoved it into her handbag, forgetting about bringing a hat.

Satisfied with herself, she left her bedroom to join her little sister and father in the study. As she entered the room, the energetic little French girl bolted towards her.

'Come back soon,' Gabrielle said, wrapping her arms around her sister's waist, pressing her face against her bosom.

'Come visit soon,' Fleur offered as she stroked her silvery-blonde hair. She then pulled back and held her at arm's length 'Don't you want to meet your 'ero?'

This time, it was Gabrielle's time to blush. Ever since Harry had "saved" her from the second task, she'd had a crush on him. It was interesting to deal with over the Triwizard Tournament because more often than not, Fleur noticed her own little sister rooting for the boy rather than her. She didn't take it badly. Instead, she relished in the fact that she could tease her endlessly about it.

''ere you go, ma cherie,' her mother said from behind her 'Your grandmuzzer wants to meet 'im too.'

She turned around to his mother, who was holding a pair of galleons with a string going through them like it was a pendant. An apparent detail that revealed its inauthenticity was instead of a dragon on the face of the coin, it was a fleur-de-lis.

'If ever 'e 'as ze time. I am not even sure if 'e 'as any for zis,' Fleur said nervously. She was worried about what he would say. If he would reject her help again after everything. She's never had a fear of rejection before since she's been pampered and accepted since birth. Hermione entrusted her with the duty of helping Harry when no one else could this summer, and she intended to see it through.

Initially, she was searching for a means of ridding herself of the life debt she owed Harry, but it soon turned into something more important, and bigger than herself. The thought of the Dark Lord returning continued to send shivers down her spine, and she trusted Harry's words that he did in fact return. Thanks to that, she was able to convince her family of increasing security on all fronts. Maybe it was the way Hermione depicted it in her letters, but she was utterly convinced of his return. To her, she wondered how anyone could doubt him.

The stories about him in Hogwarts and what he's done since he's been there. The rumours spread all across Europe through the families of Hogwarts children, by Fleur's fifth year, she'd heard about the boy-who-lived who defeated a troll and gained a stupendous amount of points for his house for a bunch of vague actions that were only described as heroic. His "heroics" were only further supported with the events that transpired the next two years, provided that they were also rumours. The Triwizard Tournament was the cherry on top with his actions in the second task. At that point, Fleur had without a doubt in her mind that he was the hero the rumours painted him to be. She hoped that soon, she would learn if all of it were true.

'Don't worry about it Fleur, get zere wen we get zere,' Appoline said, giving a motherly kiss on her forehead.

Fleur was glad that her family understood why she wanted to do this. She waited days, owling Hermione back and forth planning before she broke it to her parents what she planned on doing this summer. They were surprised, but what parent wouldn't be when their daughter suddenly felt the urge to help someone they barely knew. The French aren't known for having the best judgement of character, but they were glad that the someone in question was Harry Potter, the world renowned boy-who-lived, and the one who saved their daughter.

'Are you sure about this, ma fleur?' Dominique Delacour asked as he grabbed his wand from the middle drawer of his desk.

'Oui, Papa,'

Dominique gave a heavy sigh before he pointed his wand at the

'You understand what the press is saying about the boy,' he asked cautiously. He was referring to the Daily Prophet's accusations on Harry being a liar about the events that transpired in an alleged graveyard. When the news reached across the channel, the more rational _La Gazette du Sorcier_ was sceptical given the history of the Daily Prophet when it came to heavy news. Nonetheless, they spread the word of the Daily Prophet, framing the boy-who-lived as a liar and attention seeker.

Fleur felt a twinge of annoyance as it appeared her own father believed the news rather than Harry. She didn't want to get mad at him, because she couldn't blame him, after all, no one could corroborate his story. He did not have faith in Harry like she along with so few others had.

'I trust 'im,' she said sternly.

'Then it is out of my hands. If what Harry says is true, then he is going to need all the help you can give. Just be careful and don't get in trouble Fleur,' he pointed his wand at the book on the table 'Five minutes, oui?'

'Oui.'

'Make sure you are clear of the wards beforehand,' he cautioned, receiving a nod from his daughter. 'Portus,' Dominique cast, the book giving a brief blue glow before fading.

* * *

'So where we off to tonight, birthday boy?' Harry asked Dudley as they exited the local bus.

'Well you see, Ava has this idea,' Dudley started.

'Putting a Scotsman in charge of your birthday, Dudley? I didn't think you'd have that much faith in her,' Harry mused, smiling at his choice. He may have not left the "humble abode" that was Number Four on Privet Drive, but he grew up around Vernon Dursley and his friends that visit every now and then. There were more than enough occasions when they would get sloshed in the household and cause a ruckus that the neighbours would complain about. After those incidents, they were forced to have their drunken bouts outside the house, primarily in pubs.

'Oi, it's no big deal. You remember Ava had an auntie, ye?' Harry nodded and sounded his agreement 'Well, she runs a pub down the river.'

'You do know the history of Scotsman and alcohol right Dudley? I know it's not as bad as the Irish, but it's still up there,' Harry joked, knowing full well that Dudley understood where he was coming from.

'Anyways, we hardly look of age. Sore thumb much?' Harry said, tugging on his shirt.

'You kidding? Look at yourself mate,' Dudley exclaimed, turning around so that he was walking backwards and gesturing to Harry's body. He looked down at himself, hardly knowing what he meant.

'At the beginning of summer, you were already taller and fit, doing that ball sport you talked about.' Harry did mention to Dudley about Quidditch, provided he had to leave a lot of gaps to not over complicate the game. It ended up sounding a lot like a crude combination of ice hockey for its aggression, basketball for the hoops and balls, and flying broomsticks. The concept travelled without much confusion at that point.

Though when Harry thought about it, he often questioned how Quidditch could possibly put him in a high physical condition. Last year, Quidditch was put on hold for the Triwizard Tournament, so more to the point. Instead, it was the month of strenuous working out in the morning that actually took a positive direction on both Harry and Dudley's body. Calling it a morning run was now oversimplified.

They didn't stop to talk about what they were adding to their runs. It was more like a silent agreement between the two. If Harry began doing sit ups halfway through the run, Dudley would join in and stop when he stopped. If Dudley took a turn that would extend their run towards the uphill residences, Harry would follow suit. By now, as the month passed, their routine was packed with various workout activities.

'Harry, a month of working out has done wonders to you, mate. I'm surprised you hadn't noticed.' Harry took his statement with a grain of salt but decided to accompany him through this. It was his birthday after all. It'd be the first birthday celebration he'd attend in Muggle Britain since he was eleven years old when he accompanied the Dursleys to the zoo. A memorable time, for both Harry and Dudley, for very different reasons.

It was barely after dusk, and they were now walking river side to the lit up building just a couple hundred metres away from them.

'The only advice Ava gave me was, act like you belong, and you'll belong,' Dudley stated, his hands in his pockets 'or at least that's my rough translation of what she said.'

They chuckled at Dudley's jab at her Scottish accent. It sounded like she had gotten comfortable enough with Dudley to be speaking to him in a raw Scottish accent.

'The birthday boy is here!' came the familiar Scottish voice belonging to Ava. A cheer erupted in the bar as the crowd grabbed Dudley and guided him to the bar.

'Surely you're not eighteen,' the barmaid said as the volume died down. She stared Dudley, coldly in the eyes. Harry was beside the two men who were crowding over Dudley. The pub fell quiet quickly, the sounds of mugs being settled on tables and chatter dying down being the last of the sounds in the bar.

'A little birdy told me yer celebratin' yer fifteenth.'

Now, it was just the sound of Dudley's nervous breathing.

'Tommy, get the cognac!' the barmaid shouted, the cheering returning quickly. The pub regained its liveliness, and the ones who fell quiet were either laughing at Dudley's nervousness or drinking. Tommy, the barman at the other side of the bar, walked over with a fancy looking bottle. It was clearly brandy at this point.

Harry inwardly laughed. It took some getting used to, and repetitive occasions under the dizzy eyes of the Weasley twins, but Firewhiskey, standing at a robust 42% ABV alcohol, became Harry's drink of choice when it came to the need for liquor. The twins spiking the drinks at the Yule Ball had some unwarranted benefits to Harry, he knew who to go to if ever he needed a particular kind of downtime. Following the events of the third task Triwizard Tournament, it was for sure that the Weasley twins had hooked Harry up more than a few times.

The thought of becoming an alcoholic was distasteful to Harry. Hence he only drank five out of the eight days of school that was left after the third task.

When the brandy was poured into a snifter, Dudley gave Harry a look of doubt.

Harry smiled back and nodded to the glass. He didn't know how he did it, but Harry managed to convey his message clearly through just an expression.

Your Funeral.

As expected, the bare minimum of a sip had him slowly placing the glass back down on the table as his body tried to accept the new found threat to his body. If it were any other situation, he would back down and not drink. But the pressure building around him from the several grown men cheering him on to drink his first brandy, not to mention his girl who ran behind the bar and was standing beside the barmaid, whom Harry deciphered was her auntie.

It didn't take long for Dudley to muster the strength to take a large swig of the alcohol. His eyes shut tight, as he downed the liquid. The audible gulp incited another wave of cheering. When Dudley managed to open his eyes, he looked towards Ava, then towards Harry, who was giving him a thumbs up.

Gradually the attention detached from the birthday boy and towards the television in the pub, where a rugby match was playing, obviously not live. The men proceeded to cheer for their respective teams and verbally fight with one another as they defended the honour of the said teams.

To somewhat join in the fun, Harry asked the barmaid for a wine cooler. He had never actually drunk a wine cooler, all he knew was that when he was in the Three Broomsticks one Hogsmeade weekend, Hermione commented that butterbeer was practically the magical equivalent of a wine cooler.

The barmaid smiled at Harry's politeness and pulled a bottle bearing the brand Bacardi with a blue liquid within. She popped the cap open and slid the bottle into Harry's open hand. It wasn't unusual that bar etiquette was similar across both the magical and muggle world, such as the open hand on the bar counter was apparently the universal signal for "slide drink here".

Time passed slowly, or at least it will always feel that way when you're under the influence. Dudley's personality went from nervous to reckless quickly as he attempted to indulge himself in more alcohol than he could handle. Harry didn't have to step in to stop him because Ava knew that giving him too much would do wonders to a lightweight. It was cute in a sense, watching Ava restrain Dudley as he tried to pull stunts left and right.

Then the thought suddenly hit Harry, what if he began running his mouth, specifically along the lines of magic.

'Let's-' he paused, gathering whatever thought he had before resuming 'set this man up with a drink!' Dudley was gesturing towards Harry.

'I'm good Duds.' Harry replied in kind, waving his wine cooler in the air.

'No! Something more appropriate. This man is a living legend. He defeated-'

Harry's eyes widened, and he froze. He would have loved to physically shut him up, but he froze. The word was on the tip of his tongue.

Fortunately, he was much too hammered to remember clearly. He began snapping his fingers at Harry and making a face as he tried to remember the word

'What was it what was it…'

Harry took this time to approach Dudley.

'Alright Dudley, I think you need to take a seat mate,' he said with a nervous laugh, wrapping an arm around Dudley's shoulder. Thankfully, Dudley's train of thought derailed quickly and fell into a booth with Harry. The setting didn't last long for Dudley as he let his head fall to the table with a loud thud, followed by snoring.

'Great.'

Ava slid into the booth beside Dudley and across from Harry.

'Smashed already, eh?' she asked with a giggle as she poked Dudley's cheek.

'Yeah pretty much,' Harry answered with a smile and a roll of the eyes before taking another swig from his wine cooler.

'You seem to be handling it pretty well.'

'I'm drinking light,' Harry mentioned, shaking his bottle at the Scotswoman.

'If you call your seven breezers an hour light, I'm terrified to see your heavy. Have you hit the loo yet?'

Harry raised an eyebrow, surprised at the fact that it's been an hour, and that this was his seventh. He doesn't even remember ordering a third, no less a second. The thought of going to the loo suddenly made him well aware of his bladder state. Ava understood his expression and pointed towards the door behind him.

* * *

The familiar feeling of being hooked behind the navel was brief as she barely stumbled on her landing. Grateful that her arrival did not arouse the attention of the muggles around her, she placed the one-way portkey into her handbag, a copy of Les Contes de Beedle le Bard, the French translation of the renowned book of a similar name. The bag was able to contain a lot of items, thanks to the capacious extremis charm.

In a fit of panic, her free hand flew to her hip. She eased over when she felt her trusty rosewood holstered. The last thing she wanted was to be a country away from home without her wand. She took a look at her surroundings to confirm that she'd landed in the place her father indicated. To her right was a packed port filled with large ferries and coast guard vessels. She has never seen a seaside this busy before, so lively and active, so late in the evening.

Fleur was standing outside a building that read Portsmouth International Port. She assumed it was the muggle transport station that her father described to her. Being magical, she never had to face the congestion in travel, but her father warned her that that would change if she sought her goal through and through.

She had taken a portkey made by her father to Portsmouth, a coastal town in Britain. Most would say what he had done was create and use an illegal portkey. Fortunately for her, such standard rules did not apply to her family. Hence her entry into Great Britain was not magically tracked, and similarly to their owl, if she were tracked, it would definitely cause a headache for the British Ministry of Magic.

It was late, maybe around nine in the evening and stores have long since been closed, and the only places open was the ferry service and a few restaurants. Time was on her side, and all she had to do was talk to the ferry service before she could apparate to her next destination.

She decided on exploring the area and the terminal a bit. It was the first time she was on her own in another country. Fleur grew up in France her entire life, mostly in the capital, Paris. She lived in Chateau near the Notre-Dame, a building quite difficult to miss as it not only attracted a lot of tourists, but is a large cathedral, that most people believe was is a simple arrondissement to the government of France, but beneath it was the French Ministry of Magic.

Hence she never really got out of the capital much. With the notable exception of the summer home in Monaco and vacations to Brighton. With the occasional visit to Versailles and Le Mans.

Portsmouth appeared to be a poor choice for a visit as a first time she was on her own outside of France, but she was not there for leisure. If anything, and if it all goes to plan, she would be doing more work than play this half of summer. Most of the illumination from where she stood came from the terminal building in front of her. It made sense since the channel was most busy in the day, and it took a long time for the ferry to cross the channel, which would also mean crossing shipping lanes. Leaving late at night would be the safest decision for crossing the channel via ferry.

Fleur entered the terminal to be graced with what the muggles call "air conditioning". Most witches and wizards refrain from applauding the muggles on their rapidly advancing technology. Many of which are pureblood families that wanted nothing to do with muggles and would have done much to eliminate them had it not been for the Statute of Secrecy. Rational people would claim the statute may have saved wizardkind, others would call it a coward's action.

Nonetheless, Fleur appreciated the fresh breeze and made her way to a counter. A man wearing a uniform of the ferry service had his elbow on the counter and his chin in his hand, apparently both tired and bored. Working this late in such a disinteresting job would do a good job at bringing those effects.

'What can I do-' the British male stopped talking, and his eyes opened fully, staring at her. His focus was entirely on her, and not a sound was leaving his open mouth. It was as if he was shocked to see her, but she knew that wasn't it.

She opened her handbag and searched the contents until she pulled out her sunglasses. Slipping them on, she snapped her fingers at the hot-blooded male.

'Bonjour monsieur. I would like a ferry ride tonight, for two,' she asked politely, yet annoyed that he was still in a daze. She may not have hatred towards muggles, but it was always a high degree of annoyance for her when having to deal with the affected ones.

'Y-Yes. Returning t-to your country miss?' The man stammered.

'Oui, wiz my boyfriend,' it was a white lie, and she knew it well. Such words can indulge one of two outcomes from affected individuals. Fleur was glad when she got the better half of the deal. The tender snapped out of it and apologised

'I'm sorry miss. So two tickets, destination?'

'Le 'avre.'

'Passports, please,' he asked, unaffected by the aura for now. Fleur had learnt from her mother, and what she learnt from her grandmother, that if you state your relationship status, it would be a fifty-fifty chance of the outcome being in your favour. If it is in your favour, your aura against the designated affected individual would be cleansed, but only for a few hours or so, the immunity isn't permanent. Though if it isn't in your favour, the affected would become violently possessive, eager to gain the attention and affection of the veela by any means necessary, even killing off the competition. Even if the competition didn't exist, the possessive nature would threaten those who were also affected by the aura.

This was the grim side of living as a veela, having to live with powers that are capable of doing that to another person. This was the reason why she didn't use the excuse at Hogwarts or Beauxbatons.

Fleur decided to take this risk because, for one, Harry was not here. Thus he was safe, tipping the odds slightly in her favour, and because she was too tired and annoyed to want to deal with people affected by her aura; with tire comes recklessness and low tolerance.

Now that she was faced with a passport issue, she wished that she hadn't done it because her aura would help her in convincing him to give her the tickets without them. She mentally berated herself for not thinking and drew her wand discretely, pointing it at the man.

'Confundo,' she whispered. She watched as the man shivered before he spoke

'Thank you for coming to Brittany Ferries,' he picked up two tickets and held them out for her 'Here are your tickets, the ferry departs at eleven-thirty and boarding is open half an hour before that.'

'Merci,' she turned around to leave, but remembered she needed one thing 'I'm sorry, do you 'ave a map?'

* * *

Harry was surprised that he managed to maintain his footing at all with his cousin's arm slung around his shoulders, using him as support. He was glad that the majority of his body wasn't fat anymore, but muscle did count as weight nonetheless, though same couldn't be said for Harry. He's gained a lot of weight in the form of muscle. Proud of how far he'd come in a matter of a month, he often wondered how much further he could go if it continued at Hogwarts.

Thinking ahead, especially positively, wasn't a strong suit for Harry. He usually spent that time looking negatively, always towards the worst case scenario. His mindset was fixated at looking at the world in such a negative and broken state that he hardly looked at it for its beauty.

He gave his step a little hop to readjust his arm so that it would stop rubbing uncomfortably against the back of his neck, and instead rest on his shoulder blades. If he were able, he would levitate him with the mobilicorpus charm, but he remembers the last time magic was done outside of school. Harry was lucky that year, but with the state of the ministry and the press calling him a liar, he didn't want to be taking any chances with magic this summer. He'd been carrying him since they departed the pub around fifteen minutes ago. He watched as Ava gave him a kiss and Dudley slurring words of admiration upon their exit.

They usually took a bus to get to Staines, but actually, they never needed to given the two towns of Staines and Little Whinging weren't too far away from one another. Easily, they could walk from Privet Drive to Staines, with the addition of half an hour of course in comparison to how fast they would make it if they took the public transport, which was around five to ten minutes.

'Mate, you shouldn't drink so much,' Dudley slurred, his head hanging. Harry barely heard it.

'Yeah, I try to moderate,' replied Harry, understanding his state of confusion. Dudley was the one that probably drank more alcohol than anyone in the pub in the matter of a few hours.

Harry was proud of how he handled his liquor. It astounded himself how well he could, even in the last week of his fourth year. Fred and George often commented how he'd "not been pissed into next week", Harry just thought that the pair couldn't handle it as well as he could. His thoughts wondered if his ridiculous metabolism that prevented him from gaining so much weight despite the amount he ate since his arrival at Hogwarts. He didn't understand it much, but Hermione described it as something people would be jealous of.

Maybe there was a connection to his drinking and his metabolism because he'd drunk enough wine coolers for a casual drinker to pass out twice over, or at least that's how Ava described it.

'Thanks Hagry,' came Dudley, after nearly tripping over himself if it were not for Harry catching his full weight.

'No problem, mate. You'd do the same for me, I hope,' Harry said, whispering the last part.

'See, there you go again,' Dudley slurred as he lifted his head 'Your pessimism.'

Harry sighed. Even when he was drunk, he could call him out on his shit. Clearly, Dudley was more capable of caring about others than Ron, or at least since his change of course, excluding the years of torment Harry had to go through in his childhood.

'I know it's hard Harry,' Dudley bit back a belch and allowed a hiccup before he could continue 'Maybe you could at least try to make yourself happy.'

Dudley could sense a retort in his stupendous state and cut Harry off

'You're not letting yourself, and you know it.'

Harry was getting annoyed at Dudley now. Not because of his sudden change in person and influx of wisdom and thoughtfulness, but because he was right all the time. Maybe to some people it was stating the obvious, he'd bet if Hermione and Ron did not have the level of understanding of what he's been through, they wouldn't be as restrained when it came to calling him out. They'd been through so much together that they knew what the other didn't want to talk about, and what topics would be too emotional to speak of.

Dudley, on the other hand, did not know him at that depth. It was a good thing, getting an outside perspective. He oversimplified it, but the simplification allowed him to present simple solutions, and solutions were something he often ran out of. Hermione and Ron would have never had said something like "try to make yourself happy". Then again, it would be a step forward to brightening his world.

Eventually, Harry and Dudley were on Wisteria Walk, nearing Privet Drive. Harry didn't know what his first words to the residents of Number Four about Dudley's state would be. Vernon would assume he'd magicked his boy once again, and Petunia would know plain and simple what a drunken state would look like since she's been living under the roof of a frequent drinker.

Then again, it was very late into the night. Harry hoped he'd be lucky and the Dursleys would be asleep if and when he managed to get Dudley through the front door.

As they turned the corner, he saw the lights on in several houses on Privet Drive. He counted as soberly as he could the houses until he reached Number Four and noticed that the lights were on within. Luck wasn't on his side today it appeared.

The pair approached the front doorstep of Number Four, and Harry shrugged to get Dudley conscious to an acceptable degree.

'We're home Dudley,' Harry informed.

'Whoopee,' he slurred as his forehead bumping against the front door. Harry let a chuckle slip as he reached for his key in his back pocket. He brushed past his wand and tried to get the keyring — which his wand managed to get through — detached from his wand, causing a long and stressful battle to get the keys out with one hand. The musical in his back pocket stopped when he heard the door unlocking.

 _Time to face the music_ …Harry thought.

Then the door opened inward, and Dudley's head caught itself, shaking him awake. Harry could hardly believe it…

'Fleur?'


	3. Crossings

**Note from Allen Harding:** I hate asking this, even though the story is fresh. But I do encourage reviewing, I'd like to know what to do more of or less of. It's my first time writing in the Harry Potter universe. I have never read the books but watched the movies almost religiously. I do try to make up for the books by doing extensive research to achieve thorough canonicity. Feel free to judge the direction and writing. I am practising my writing since I am trying to be an actual writer in the future.

Also, Fleur's accent is a stress to go through, making sure that it is exactly how Joanne writes it. Hence why I tried to lessen my load by limiting the accents to Fleur and her mother. I speak French, so I know how it sounds and sort of how it should look on paper. But JKRs accent's are so rarely revealed in her writing, so her rules on Hs are unclear. I'm writing it how I want and don't get mad if it is inconsistent because it is so stressful as is.

Let me clarify with the direction of the story. This is not what you guys call Powerful!Harry or whatever. I don't know how those work so I don't use them. Practically, what I'm trying to communicate, is that this story is not Harry against the world kind of story. He is not going to be a god-level Wizard that can destroy Death Eaters with the flick of a wand. He is above-average, but not superpowered.

A quote from a reviewer, AlsoKnownAsMatt: "One universal objection I have with many of the "I'll take care of things myself" stories which, sadly, are based in canon, is that anyone with even half a brain would recognize that one person can not take on a large and sophisticated organization of adult evil-doers alone."

I agree with this statement.

This chapter took a lot longer because of the heightened involvement of Fleur, and I wanted to make sure that the connection between Harry and Fleur was as good as it could be in its early stages. I may have rushed this chapter out because I've written it for a long time, if there is anyone that would like to suggest some specific edits, I'll react quickly.

* * *

 **3\. Crossings**

Getting to Surrey was relatively easy with the aid of Muggle maps. Apparition is troublesome when trying to apparate somewhere, you have never seen, heard, or been before. Visual or descriptive aids are the first steps to Apparition. A lack of such aids makes apparition dangerous, with more than just a risk of splinching.

She could have Apparated to Brighton from Paris, but its distance would have given her a good chance of splinching. Apparition hopping was invented long ago to solving such problems, but consistently Apparating long distances in a short amount of time would cause a significant magical surge that would trigger sensors in the Ministry. Attention from the Ministry of Magic in Britain was the one thing she was trying to avoid.

The magical world after the events that Gellert Grindelwald had put into motion had changed drastically, especially in the area of global security. There was a time where there was a decent degree of privacy and freedom to every man, woman, witch or wizard. Though perhaps it came a little later in regards to women.

The ministry only decided to monitor magical travel so rigorously during that time, and even more so when Grindelwald escaped captivity under the Magical Congress of the United States of America (MACUSA). The French and British Ministers of Magic established several treaties after the tragedy that took place in both Britain and France in the years following his escape, most of which was an increase of invasive wards upon their countries.

The decision was to take a portkey and travel to Portsmouth, and from there, find a way to get to the place Hermione called "Little Whinging" in Surrey. Fleur assumed Surrey was a county in England, similar to Normandy was to France. Which made it easier to narrow down where she was to go.

She arrived in Little Whinging, her sunglasses nearly falling off as she materialised with a silent crack. She'd been practising her apparition since the classes were introduced in Beauxbatons, but her ability to do so was not perfect. From there on, she had to find her own way to the street of Privet Drive.

Little Whinging was a town so the street itself would be difficult to find without help. She managed to find an older lady on the street, whom she learnt from to be named "Magnolia Road". When she asked her where Privet Drive was, she answered, after giving a gentle compliment to her looks.

It didn't take long, from the older woman's somewhat precise directions, to find Privet Drive. She discovered most of the houses on this road similar in design. She groaned as she had to count left and right, house to house, to find number four, the house the man she'd come so far to help resided.

Eventually, she found the house with a muggle transport in its driveway. She walked up to the door and knocked. She waited a few seconds before knocking once again. The booming from within the house startled her, it followed a pattern that resembled footsteps. Fleur took a few steps back from the door. If she wasn't mistaken, she heard a male voice that wasn't anything similar to Harry's saying 'Who could be knocking at this hour?'

The door swung upon, and as her eyes fell upon the male before her, she did her best to suppress the urge to display an expression of disgust.

'Who the bloody hell are you to be knockin' at this ungodly hour, young lady?' The large man asked furiously.

Despite his rudeness, Fleur felt a significant amount of relief. A muggle who did not treat her like eye candy and excessively stare at her. The alternative was a nice change she finalised.

'My name is Fleur, I am 'ere to talk to 'Arry.'

'The boy is out, and I am not taking any messages from anyone, even a Frenchy like yourself,' he ended, motioning to close the door. Fleur stopped him by placing her hand flat on the door. She somewhat felt bad for having said the next few words

'If it means anyzing, I 'ave ze intention of relieving you of 'im,'

The man's eyebrow raised, intrigued by her words.

'The old man said I was to keep him here.'

'Wat ze old man does not know can not 'urt 'im. It will only be for a month I hope, per'aps longer.' She knew it was a stretch for such a prolonged event to take place, but the man before her, who Fleur understood to be the uncle who hated Harry's existence, wanted him out of the house more than he wanted to satisfy Albus Dumbledore.

A smile graced the man's face and stepped out of her way, allowing her in the house.

'He is not home, but you can go pack his stuff so you can leave as soon as possible with him when he gets back,' he said happily, gesturing to the cupboard under the stairs 'His trunk is in there, my wife will provide you with some refreshments.'

'Merci,' she thanked, stepping inside.

That's how the evening went for Fleur in Surrey. She remained in the household, grabbing the trunk from under the stairs and heading upstairs with the help of his uncle to carry it up. She went through the wardrobe and desks to grab what Harry would deem important and placed them neatly in his trunk. Fleur couldn't help but giggle as she packed the boxers and briefs into the trunk. She'd never had thought she would be doing this for summer, packing another boy's underwear into their trunk before they had a chance to protest.

Her packing was halted when she heard the hoot from the cage on the desk, where a snowy white owl surprisingly similar to her family's owl, Kryos.

''ello zere monsieur,' she said, poking her finger through the cage, only to get it nipped and the owl's beak shucking at her. If that could be described as shucking for an owl.

'Girl?' she received a hoot in response. Fleur was too used to calling her owl as a male, a mistake for her this time.

'Hello Miss,' came a woman's voice from behind her. Fleur straightened her back and turned around to find who she assumed was the wife of the man she'd met earlier. She was a near opposite of the man, in every sense of the word. She was as thin as a twig and bewilderingly pale. In the palm of her hands was a tray with tall glasses filled iced water.

'You are 'Arry's Aunt, yes?'

'Yes I am,' the woman said, nodding. Fleur was passive up until this point…

'Let me say I am deesappointed in your parenting of your dead sister's son.' Fleur hadn't intended to sound so vile and angry as it left her lips. The woman wanted to reply or retort, but she paled further than she already was, and carried the tray back downstairs. The rest of Fleur's time was spent in Harry's room packing.

She felt bad for rummaging through his belongings, especially so when she picked up the animated, black and white photograph at his bedside. In the photo frame was a beautiful woman, dancing with a man she could only describe as an older version of her own Harry Potter, down to the glasses. The two twirled under falling leaves in their winter wear, blissful and happy with one another's presence.

The happiness in the photograph was pure, a happiness so scarce in the world today.

Harry's uncle was happy to help her carry the trunk back downstairs, where she was given a choice to wait in the lounge for Harry for the rest of the evening.

So here she stood, in the foyer of Number Four on Privet Drive, holding the front door open for the one man she's been waiting for. She was shocked to say in the least when the door opened and her eyes met his eyes at a surprisingly higher height than she could remember from a month ago. His build was had her blinking, as if her eyes began to deceive her. He lacked the generic physical qualities that she could recall him having no less than a month ago when she bid him goodbye at the steps of her carriage.

There was no denying that this was the same man, for he had the same circular glasses, same ridiculously untamed and overgrown hair, same lightning bolt scar above his right eyebrow, and the same astonishingly beautiful emerald green eyes.

When her name left his lips, his voice appeared to have grown as well, slightly deeper with a familiar tone of unsureness. This was him, and there was no denying it.

'I've been waiting, Meester Potter.'

* * *

'Wh-what?' he stuttered as her voice was unmistakably the French Veela he'd befriended last year 'Fleur?'

Her eyebrows furrowed, displaying her annoyance.

'Wait. What? What are you doing here? At my home.' Dudley chose this moment to talk

'Hello, I'm Dudley, I'm also gonna die if I don't find a bed,' the words hadn't left as clearly as the boy assumed they would, but the message had been communicated clearly enough for Fleur to step out of the way and let Harry's cousin stumble past her.

The two watched him as he made his way up the stairs slowly, worried he might fall down or over. Dudley eventually made it to the first floor, and after they heard a door close, they turned to one another.

'What are you doing here?' Harry asked, a lot more serious that he'd been before. He felt both confused and worried. So many questions running through his head as he tried to understand why the most beautiful girl he'd known last year was, not even on his doorstep, but holding the door open for him from within his home.

Fleur didn't take his words lightly, or at least the way he said them. Harry quickly tried to fix the situation

'I'm sorry, I-' he was interrupted as Fleur leaned forward and sniffed him. Her reaction was awe and disappointment.

'Were you out drinking?' she asked as calmly as she could.

Harry flushed. He'd never been in such a position before, he hadn't known how to act or react. He assumed he'd be facing an angry Dursley parent, not a woman he knew personally. The way she glared at him made him redden with embarrassment like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. She knew, and he knew she knew.

Harry fell silent.

'Get eenside,' she demanded, pointing at the floor of the foyer. Harry nearly mouthed his protest, but obeyed and took a few steps inside the house, Fleur shutting the door behind him. When Harry stepped in, revealing his features to Fleur, she shook, taking in how much he differed from his look barely a month ago.

'Care to explain yourself?' She asked, putting her hands on her hips. Her anger mixed with an ever-thickening French accent making him shiver.

'I-' he tried to begin.

'Forget it, I do not want to 'ear it,' she huffed, crossing her arms and turned to face the wall. Her displeasure towards him very apparent to all who viewed her, which included Petunia Dursley from the kitchen door. She was shocked at how Fleur was treating Harry.

Fleur too was shocked: this had not been what she expected to be doing when Harry arrived.

Even though Fleur said she didn't want to hear it, Harry felt an obligation to give her an explanation.

'I was out with Dudley. It is his birthday, and a friend planned to celebrate it in a pub. I swear I only had a few drinks to fit in with the crowd,' he explained, desperate to be forgiven. He felt as if he let her down for some reason. Within, he was wondering why he felt as such. The disappointment she expressed made Harry feel horrible for reasons he could barely understand.

The pressing topic was her being in Number Four, not his whereabouts and actions in the night with Dudley, but somehow she managed to change the priorities with her words.

'You better not do zis again.'

 _Again? When and why would there be another time she would catch me drinking in the night_ …Harry thought.

He suddenly realised this was her taking matters into her own hands as she said in her letter. He didn't get a reply back from her, so this was probably what she had in mind, Harry deduced.

'What are you doing here, Fleur?' Harry finally asked, pushing away the topic of his drinking. Fleur wasn't satisfied with the change but nonetheless decided the time for explanations would come sooner or later.

'I am 'ere to take you out.'

Harry expressed his confusion in a tilt of his head and the squinting of his eyes.

'Excuse me?'

Her choice of words may have played a role in his confusion, so she reworded it

'You are coming with me. I am 'ere to help you, like I said,' Fleur said sternly.

'What? No. Fleur. I said-' he tried to object.

'I know you said you didn't want my 'elp, but you are getting it whezzer you like it or not.'

'Fleur…' he groaned.

'Do not _Fleur_ me. You are coming wiz me,' she pestered, aggressively pointing at him. She was angry and committed, a combination that Harry had only ever seen in his best friend, Hermione.

'Look I don't-'

She cut him off once more.

'I am not leaving unless you leave with me,' she finalised, taking a seat on the staircase. Harry's eyes widened, his thoughts racing to what the Dursley's would say, or do. He feared that Vernon would attack her, or belittle her, or insult her for her mere existence in Harry's life. Vernon's treatment towards anything magical was consistently negative, and if ever he learnt that she was a witch and a magical creature…

Harry was backed into a wall, and he hated it. Fleur had good intentions, he understood that, but he didn't think she knew the degree of danger she would be putting herself in by doing this.

'It's too dangerous Fleur…please…for your own sake,' he warned.

Fleur responded by leaning back on the staircase, placing her elbows on the higher steps, as if getting comfortable.

Harry sighed, his eyes flying to the ceiling as he brought a hand up to push up his glasses and pinch the bridge of his nose.

'How long?' he asked.

'One monz.'

He removed his hand and groaned once more before conforming

'Fine. Alright,' he surrendered, his hands flying into the gesture of the same word 'I'll come with you.'

'Great!' her attitude shifting into glee as she stood up and rushed into the lounge. She returned dragging his trunk through the door, and Vernon Dursley right behind her.

'Try not to come back too soon, boy.'

Fleur shivered in anger but held it back, and instead gave him a smile and a thanks before turning back to Harry.

'All packed,' she said, patting the top of the trunk. Harry raised an eyebrow at her, he could only recall that he some books and school robes in there.

'I packed your clozes already. Alzough, I zink you might need a new wardrobe,' she recommended, pointing at his body 'You are beeger, not as leetle as I remember.'

Harry could only blush, harder and harder as her words grew progressively more embarrassing for him.

'We can leave now,' Harry tried.

'No, not yet.'

Harry groaned.

'What else-'

'Oi, be'ave,' she berated his attitude. Fleur reached into her purse and grabbed small pouch.

'What's that?'

'Birzday geeft for your cousin,' she explained, emptying the pouch into her hand. Two coins fell from it, each with a string looped through them.

'Coin necklaces? How thoughtful…?'

'Shut,' Fleur scolded. Harry didn't like that Fleur was making a habit of scolding him.

'Zese are charmed coins,' she began as she lifted the top coin by the string 'If ze wearer squeezes it, the other coin will 'eat up. Like a danger seegnal.'

Harry attitude towards it changed. His thoughts towards leaving Dudley here unprotected had finally arrived at the forefront of his mind. Now that his cousin began to matter to him, he worried about him being a part of his dangerous existence. With the coins Fleur had described, Harry would know when he would be in danger and be able to help him. It brought a special kind of ease to his mind and thanked Fleur

'Thank you Fleur, this is amazing.'

''Ermione told me 'ow much your friends matter to you. So I zought-'

'You don't have to explain. Thank you.'

Fleur handed him the coins

'It is one way. Give 'im ze coin wiz ze…' Fleur left hanging. She hadn't known how to tell the two apart she now realised.

Harry caught this and decided to squeeze both coins in his hand. Eventually, one of the coins began to heat up in his hand. He was surprised how much heat it actually let off. Picking the heated coin from the stack, he shoved it in his pocket and held the other at Fleur.

'Yes, zat one.' Harry rolled his eyes and made his way upstairs. He entered his room, where there was still spare parchment on the table from the last time he'd drafted a letter for Fleur. With the intention of writing up an explanation on how the coin works and a happy birthday, he began writing.

 _Happy Birthday Duddikins_

 _Fleur got this present for you. It's magical, but don't be afraid. It's like a danger button. If you squeeze it, it will tell me that you're in danger. So if anyone attacks you or is out to get you, be it magical or not, I will be there. I'm going to be gone for a month, but know that I'll have your back when you need me mate._

 _Harry_

He wasn't exactly satisfied to the fullest with the letter. There was so much more he wished he could explain, he folded it up and left for Dudley's room. When he opened the door slightly, he found his cousin completely out of it on the bed. Face buried in a pillow and his arm hanging off the bedside.

He made sure his steps were quiet as he approached his bedside table.

'We're waiting, boy!' Vernon shouted from downstairs. The noise had Dudley stirring in his sleep, but he didn't wake. Harry placed the letter on the table and the coin atop it.

He made his way out of Dudley's room, shutting the door behind and peeked once more into his own room, wondering where Hedwig was since her cage was empty.

Returning to the foyer, he asked

'Where's Hedwig?'

''Oo?' the lack of consonants had Harry thinking for a split second.

'My owl,' he answered.

'O, ze is out. I told 'er to follow us when we leave.'

He looked questioningly at her

'Where exactly are we going?'

Fleur took a quick glance at the Dursley's behind her and bounced the question

'I'll show you, now come on,' she went to pull on the trunk, but the weight had her struggling for a moment. Frustrated, she drew her wand with the intention of pointing it at the trunk. Before she could utter a spell, Harry lunged and drew back her arm.

'Oi, wat are you doing? I am going to s'rink it.'

'No magic. Not here,' he explained 'The Ministry has this place warded. Last time a house elf was here, it did not bode well for me.'

'And no magic in my house! Now out! Out!' Vernon hushed, pushing Fleur with the trunk out the front door.

* * *

As the two ended up in the front yard of Number Four, Harry drew up a solution.

'Let's go up the street. We'll eventually find a secluded place for that.' Fleur nodded and let Harry drag the heavy trunk up the road. Harry's nobility was something not fun to fight against unless you are a strong-willed bookworm. They walked a couple of blocks until they found a suitable area with no houses or windows facing them. It would have been much easier to cast a notice-me-not charm amongst them, but Fleur didn't know the length of the so-called wards. Unbeknownst to her, nor did Harry, hence why he walked the distance to assure it was safe.

When Harry finally stopped, she raised her wand and pointed it once more at the trunk.

'Reducio,' she whispered. The trunk shrunk to the size of her palm. He bent down and picked it up, looking at it impressively before pocketing it. Magic was a beautiful thing.

Fleur then holstered her wand and held her hand out.

Harry was confused.

'Um…?'

'We are going to apparate, 'Arry.'

'Uh…' Harry hadn't learnt about apparition yet.

Fleur groaned and tried to explain

'Apparating is like travelling by portkey. Vanishing and appearing somewhere else.'

Harry could easily recall his last experience with a portkey. He remembered it vividly every night in his dreams…

'I don't know about this Fleur…' he said, his head falling.

Fleur didn't understand his reluctance to apparate. He needed to in order to get where she needed them to go. The silence hung between them for a while until she remembered the end of the third task.

When the maze began to deteriorate from the centre, signalling the end of the tournament, everyone was waiting for the champions to emerge before them. It was explained that the cup was a portkey and the winner would appear at the entrance. Nobody had expected that after an intensely long fifteen minutes, Harry would appear before them, a cup in one hand, and another hand with his wand pressed against the yellow fabric of the recently deceased Hufflepuff Champion.

She was the first to audibly react to the sight before her amongst the cheering crowd. The pale state of the man lying on the floor while the Gryffindor wept on his chest was enough to tell her exactly what had happened. Her mind had already expected the worst, but this was far beyond anything she'd anticipated.

'I'm sorry 'Arry,' she apologised as she brought her fingers under his chin, raising his head so that their eyes met. Fleur admitted to herself that she felt somewhat horrible for using her Veela allure to bring Harry out of his blue subconsciously, 'Zis is for you 'Arry. I want to avenge Cedreec as well, and we can. Only if you let me 'elp you.'

It didn't take long for Harry to remember what he was standing for now. It all came rushing back to him and past his sorrowful emotions. He wanted to fight so that no one else would end up like Cedric. He realised that if Fleur could be the one to help him do that, there's no way he was turning that opportunity down.

He raised his hand and grabbed the hand under his chin, their fingers interlocking smoothly, and nodded towards her.

'I'm ready.'

The sensation was uncomfortable for Fleur, but the same couldn't be said for Harry as he stumbled onto his hands and knees.

'What the bloody hell was that?!' Harry exclaimed as he tried his best to bite back the urge to vomit.

It was the first time he'd ever side-along apparated. There was a distinct difference between apparition and portkey travel, a difference Fleur failed to point out before departure.

'That's nothing like apparition Fleur!' he barked, getting off his hands and knees.

Fleur didn't take offence at his tone. Instead, she giggled, which only added fuel the fire.

'Why are you laughing?'

'You still whine like a leetle boy, mm?' she teased.

Harry attempted to sputter a retort but ended up with nothing and a blush.

'Enough wiz zis whining. We 'ave a ferry to catch,' she said as she turned and walked towards the lone ferry with the loading doors lowered to ground level.

Harry caught up with her and asked

'Why are we taking a ferry? Where are we going?'

'France.'

The simple answer forced Harry to ask more questions.

'Why France?'

'Seemply put 'Arry, if you want to do magic wizout your ministry knowing, I 'ave a 'ome in France to do zat, now 'ush,' she answered as she reached into her handbag, pulling out sunglasses. Harry was confused at why she was wearing sunglasses at near midnight, but he felt that if he so much had asked, he would get scolded again. Barely thirty minutes with her and he'd never felt so emasculated in his entire life.

'But why a ferry?'

'You still 'ave ze trace. If you leave ze country by magic, ze ministry will know. Yours and mine.'

Harry mouthed an "ah" and nodded.

'You've thought this through and through, have you?'

'Oui,' she answered smiling before grabbing his hand, pulling him with her.

A muggle vehicle was driving aboard the ferry when the two walked up to a dark-skinned security official standing on the platform.

''Ello Meester,' she drew her tickets from the bag as well and presented them to the man.

He accepted the tickets and looked at the two before inspecting the tickets

'Ah, I heard of a last minute booking. You're the French girl with the boyfriend, eh?' he asked.

Harry's panicked eyes shot to Fleur

'Oui,' she claimed as she let her arms cling to Harry's bicep and tilted her head to rest on his shoulder. He stared down at her slender arms as they wrapped around his own arm, with her silvery-blonde hair tickling the crook of his neck. He began blushing furiously, soon choosing to look off into the distance to hide it.

The guard smiled and handed Fleur back the tickets and gestured towards the boat as he said

'Go on you two, ferry leaves in a few minutes.'

She smiled back and tugged on Harry. Before they walked by the man, he stopped Harry by the shoulder and leaned towards his ear

'Good catch lad,' Fleur heard the man whisper, giving Harry a pat on the back, letting the two walk.

Fleur couldn't tell if his face was burning bright like a lumos spell in the darkness of the night, but she was willing to bet that he sure felt that way.

* * *

For the first thirty minutes of the ride, Harry and Fleur had been on the bow, watching the ferry cut through the waves below, listening to the calm crashes of the sea and inhaling the refreshing smell of the open sea. Most magical folks don't take too kindly towards the use of Muggle transportation (unless you are Arthur Weasley). After all, apparition, floo, and portkeys were much more efficient. Trading a momentary discomfort for an ability to teleport from one place to another was the kicker.

Though they do miss out on the better parts of Muggle transportation, which was the experience. Going from A to B is the mission, but what happens in between is a worthwhile experience. Harry had lost count of all the enjoyable times he'd had on the Hogwarts express to and from Kings Cross. He'd met his best friends on board that old steam train. Speaking of which…

'So you've talked to Hermione a lot have you?' Harry asked, turning to face her.

'Oui. We talked about this. She approves,' she answered, her eyes ever resting in the distance, the moonlight doing much to illuminate her sapphire blue eyes. She basked in the feeling of the nights cool breeze caressing her hair and over her ears. To Harry, it was like watching one of those slow-motioned advertisements for perfume he'd seen on the telly.

 _She's a Veela, you can't help yourself_ …Harry reasoned within.

'What did she tell you?' asked Harry, finally.

'Enough to convince me zat you need all ze help you can get.'

'She also told me zat you wouldn't want my help and zat I would need to drag you wiz me,' she added with a grin.

That sounded like something Hermione would do according to Harry. The pair fell silent once again as they reverted their focus back to the open waters ahead of them.

The ferry ride was said to be a few hours. Harry hadn't known that by a "few hours", they meant at least eight hours. He expressed his lack of enthusiasm to be on a ferry ride for such an extended amount of time, only because he hadn't slept and he's exhausted.

'I zink you can sleep in ze lounge area,' Fleur said as the pair walked up and down the ferry, searching for the room. The French witch had yet to detach herself from the young hero, continuing to pull him along. Harry hadn't felt as embarrassed as he was when he first stepped on the ferry, mostly due to the fact he was too tired to care what others thought. Maybe it was the alcohol and apparating that had him so under the weather.

'Ah!' They had found the large room, perhaps the size of two classrooms, with several benches distributed within. It wasn't packed, but the same could be said for the ferry. It could be said that ferries are at highest capacity at the beginnings and ends of summer, not in the middle.

Harry let out a groan of relief as he sat down with Fleur on one of the benches. That sat for a moment in silence, until it was broken by Fleur's yawning.

He didn't know how to deal with it, or to deal with it at all. The tire in her voice as she let out a long breath of exasperation sounded melodious. The whole situation as is was foreign ground every step he took. It had finally hit him, he was leaving England for the first time, and he was going to spend time in France with a woman years older than he was, where he would be able to do and practice magic.

It all sounded so drastic and impossible. Harry had a hard time believing that this was what his summer has become, a hot streak of great things happening to him, even though the end of his last year was the worst.

 _Good things happen to those who wait, and I've waited long enough…_ Harry thought.

Fleur had her head resting on Harry's shoulder, which he could proudly say, wasn't bony and instead actually had some meat on them. He observed her peacefulness, her eyes closed but knowing she was awake. Her plan was sleeping, but Harry still had questions. He needed to find out more about what was happening. He battled himself on whether to nudge her awake or leave her be and ask her later.

The inner conflict lasted a lot longer than he'd anticipated, he didn't know that the cogs in his head were turning so loudly Fleur woke up herself.

'Is zere somezing you want, Meester Potter?' she murmured with her eyes closed. Her voice, once again sending shivers down his spine as she almost purred calling him "Meester Potter".

He avoided looking at her further, and instead, outside the window of the lounge, so his mind could actually focus on the things he wanted to ask.

'Yeah…uhm…Where is…How is this going to work?' Harry managed.

''ow is wat?'

'Me, practising magic in France. I know you said you have a place that can let me do that, but how?'

'Wards 'Arry. My family has special wards zat pro'eebit monitoring from ze ministry.'

'Yeah, you mentioned that. Perks of the family, I assume?' he questioned, referring to the first letter he'd received from Fleur.

She nodded into his shoulder and continued.

'My family is a _Pilar de Noblesse._ Noble house in France. Very seemilar to your English Longbottom and Black family.'

Harry's knowledge of noble families only began those few seconds. He hadn't known that Neville was a part of a noble house, no less his own Godfather as well.

'What is it like, being nobility,' the words sounded odd leaving his lips. He hadn't known how to use the word or if it made sense to her. Her answer was a sufficient answer for that

'Zere are a lot of privileges of being in a noble 'ouse. One of them is ministry looks ze ozzer way and does not monitor zem. I 'ave been practeesing magic since a very young age, my sister too. You remember 'er…'

He did remember her. He remembers her unconscious form underwater alongside his two best friends and Cho Chang. He remembers panicking at the view of them below water, at the risk of losing them, even though he'd soon find out they weren't in any danger at all. He remembers waiting after Krum and Cedric had taken their respective person, waiting for the Beauxbatons Champion to pick up this little girl. He remembered the punishment for being greedy by taking two of them. Last of all, he remembered being kissed on the cheeks and thanked profusely by the Beauxbatons Champion for saving her little sister.

It was a decent change, being rewarded with a kiss on the cheek from a beautiful woman rather than a ridiculously large amount of house points to secure his house's victory.

He didn't want to hit her with another question about teaching him all about the noble families, they were both too tired to take this any further.

'That must be great.'

'Maybe…but even you would appreciate the chance of being normal, non?'

* * *

Fleur was the first person in the lounge to wake up to the silent struggles of the man she was clutching. He twitched, shook, trembled incrementally. The sleep in her eyes quickly departed and focused on trying to awaken Harry, but reconsidered. His shaking, the way his head moved from left to right, the sweat built on his temple streaming down to his neck, it was all too familiar.

 _She had come scrambling out of her bedroom across the hall to her parent's bedroom when he'd heard his cries. When she opened the door, she found her mother sitting at her bedside, with her hand over her husband's forehead, caressing him with the back of her fingers. She let out a soothing tone in an attempt to calm the shaking man._

 _Fleur ran up to the bedside where her mother was sat when she finally asked._

 _'Wat is wrong wiz papa?' the young Delacour asked, tugging on the brim of her mother's nightie._

 _'Papa is not well. But we mustn't wake 'im, ma cherie,' her mother said, bringing her hand to stroke her daughter's hair._

 _'Porquoi, maman?' she whined, glancing over at her father's distraught figure._

 _Appoline bent down and placed a soft kiss on her head, before saying_

 _'If I wake 'im, it will do more damage than good…' she then looked back down at her husband, who was sweating, tossing, and turning under her hands with his eyes erratic under their eyelids._

Fleur would come to learn that her father suffered from night terrors following the carnage that took place in the capital of France, led by none other than Gellert Grindelwald. He watched a friend of his own die, not to a spell, but to falling rubble. The pain of watching a close friend die right before his eyes, barely a metre from his grip, and not able to save him because he wasn't fast enough. Some would say it was worse than death itself.

She pulled back her hand and instead tried a calmer approach, similar to what she'd seen her mother often do to comfort her husband. She took her free hand and raised it up to his face, slowly caressing down from his forehead to his cheek in a sweeping motion, upwards and downwards, softly cooing below his ear.

The effect was positive as he began to relax, his trembling halted and his body no longer frigid in fear. Fleur looked around, to check if anyone had been woken up by the damaged man in her arms. Sure enough, there was a woman with a muggle newspaper in hand sitting across from them, observing them over the paper. Her glance was all but creepy, rather worried. Soon, the expression turned into relief and she gave Fleur a soft smile before reverting her eyes back to the paper.

The last thing Fleur wanted to do was hurt Harry the day after he'd left his home. She wanted him to be as comfortable as he could be under her care, under her supervision. She knew she would have to face, and perhaps be shared the struggles and burdens that Harry had been forcibly given.

This was just a bump in the road, and she had the fullest intention to help him get over it.

Time seemed to pass by unnoticed as her stroking ended as her consciousness joined Harry's.

She awoke with a mild stir, her eyes fluttering briefly as she realised she'd fallen asleep once more. Sunlight was peering through the windowed lounge, a beam hitting the ground right beside them. It was much brighter than it'd been when she'd initially woke. She lifted her head from his shoulder, which she found much too comfortable with resting her head on.

It's comfort soon faded when she felt a kink in the opposite side of her neck, her left arm unwrapping itself from around Harry's arm to fly and grab it. She let out a hiss, involuntarily waking her companion.

'Hey…you okay?' He moaned as he awoke, squinting at her. She saw that he hadn't worn his glasses when he fell asleep. With no glass between them, their gazes locked, challenging one another to break the contact. The innocent connection had Fleur ignoring the pain in her neck, and rather staring into the bright emerald green eyes that belonged to the boy-who-lived.

 _'ow could one 'ave such emotional, such old eyes_ …Fleur thought.

There was something hidden behind his tire, behind the weakness of his early morning fatigue. It appeared to be pain, the same pain that she'd seen in her mother's eyes when she learnt her father had passed.

Thankfully for her, Harry broke the contact when he leaned forward to bring his other arm around to the left of her neck. He didn't squeeze nor pressure, rather he massaged The connection never wavered as his the palm of his warm hand pressed against the cold skin on her neck, sending a pleasant and chilling warmth through her, forcing her eyelids to slowly close. The goosebumps on her body made her quake, a feeling she tried and failed, to hide.

She could only assume he felt her tremble as he motioned to pull his hand away in fear of having hurt her. On instinct, she caught him with her free hand and held his hand on her neck and opened her eyes to find his again

'Much better…' she nearly moaned.

Their eyes returned to the intimate, awkward, and intense connection. Fleur blushed when her mind had finally caught up with her, realising her actions. In the few hours they've been on this little journey of theirs, it could be surmised as an endless amount of blushing and embarrassment.

The connection shattered and she dropped his hand when the intercom buzzed to life.

 _~Good morning and Bonjour. We are approaching the Port of Le Havre. The summer weather is good to us this morning and the waves are as calm as they could be. Please make sure your ticket and passport is ready to present on arrival.~_

They'd reacted like a bunch of teenagers caught in the act as they looked in opposite directions, running their fingers through their own hair as they pondered what was to come next. Fleur was in the midst of berating herself when Harry broke the silence

'I don't have a passport,' came Harry.

Fleur nodded, picking up her sunglasses, which had been discarded beside her. Hermione had also brought that up in their letters. When Fleur thought about it, Hermione appeared to have but a multitude of more thought into this than Fleur ever could in such a short amount of time. Her brilliance could never be questioned, Fleur now knew that.

She bounced up onto her feet dragging Harry onto his as well, pulling on his arm with both of hers. He barely caught his glasses on the bench when he was yanked up.

'Need not worry. We can just get off 'ere,' she claimed, trying to run away from the awkwardness that plagued the last few minutes.

Harry looked at her again, quizzically. Fleur could only roll her eyes at Harry's consistent confusion.

She guided Harry out of the lounge and through the deck. He followed her like a dog on a leash into the girl's bathroom, displaying a brief reluctance before giving in. The door had barely swung closed when the world ahead of them twirled from the white tiling of the bathroom into a shadowy alleyway.

Fleur had caught herself much better this time around, but Harry, being the most inexperienced in most forms of advanced magical travel, stumbled onto his knees once again. It wasn't the fact it was apparition this time, it was more or less the lack of warning. She had anticipated his angry outburst, so she left to go around and peek around the corner

'Hey! You sh-' he noticed her lack of attention 'Oi!'

Harry pushed himself onto his feet and followed her to the end of the alleyway

'Y-' his words were stopped in an instant as a slender finger met his lips, with hardly any effort, keeping him silent. It was incredible how warm the man was she'd thought as she cleared the corner.

'We are good. Come,' Fleur said, walking around the corner, using her finger to beckon him to follow. His anger subsided as he followed her around the corner, where it was replaced with wonder and awe. It's been aforementioned that Harry has never seen anything outside of Northern Surrey, Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, and the Scottish landscape.

So when the boy-who-lived took his first steps into the French marketplace of Le Havre in the early morning when the foods were still being cooked and baked. The sounds of metal and wood clashing as shops were in the process of setting up, and the mixture of new smells and sights had Harry spinning in place to take in the location. It'd been like his reaction when he'd first stepped into Diagon Alley or his first steps into the Great Hall.

Fleur could only stand a few metres away, watching him as he took it all in. It was cute, to say the least, looking at the man revert into a boy for a moment as he is filled with wonder. She was glad she could give such a gift to him; be it a simple gift as well. She hadn't known how little he'd been provided over the years, so she didn't expect such little things to have such a massive impact on the boy made into a legend at such a young age.

When she first met him at Hogwarts, she expected him to be a spoilt brat that abused his fortune and status to get who and what he wants, even when he stumbled into the antechamber claiming he didn't enter himself into the tournament. She was convinced by many schoolmates, and even her own headmistress, Madame Maxime, that he was as vile as he was portrayed by the public, even with the rumours circulating him.

She was grateful that over the tasks, he had the chance to demonstrate his greater traits that painted him in a better light, which were only squandered away by the tragic end of the third task. Fleur feared to show him the latest headlines in the Gazette…

'Wonderful, non?' she asked as she did a little twirl with her arms out. She assumed from the smile on Harry's face that he was glad to be in Le Havre. ''ungry?'

'Yes, please.'

Fleur took his hand once more and pulled him along.

* * *

Sightseeing was something Harry hadn't initially looked forward to when he took Fleur upon her little ultimatum. So far it'd been a mishmash of magical teleportation from one place to another for a brief moment of extreme discomfort. Their destination of Le Havre was a sight to behold to the teenage wizard.

The sun was up well above the horizon, displaying the beautiful shades of yellow and orange in the clouds and on the seaside below them.

The pair were sat at a cafe, which appeared to be the most common type of food outlets Harry would be visiting in his time outside of Privet Drive. Fleur described it as one of her favourite restaurants in all of Normandy. Normandy, he learnt, was the county that Le Havre resided in, similar to Little Whinging in Surrey. He'd only heard of Normandy in his early history classes in primary school in Little Whinging. He'd forgotten when or where, but it was related to one of the wars in the 20th century.

Most of his memory of primary school were either discarded or beaten away. If there had been even the slightest chance that Harry would be doing better than Dudley, or at least doing anything that would arouse attention from anyone, the Dursley's would take offence and respond as they always have when Harry had done something not to their liking.

'So what is it the French like to have for breakfast?' Harry asked, twirling a butter knife under his index fingertip on the clothed table. Then came a crash of the waves on the beach below, gracing all who were near with a salty breeze amongst the Le Havre seaside.

Fleur was gazing upon the endless sands, distracted by the intricate shapes within them formed by the retreating waves. She closed her eyes and took in a breath, then let out a sigh before her focus returned to her companion.

'Hm?' she asked, her distraction enunciated.

'What do the French like to have for breakfast?' Harry asked once more, dropping the knife and pushing himself up so that his back met the backboard of the bleach white chair.

'Mostly _pain_ , _pain_ means bread,' she answered gleefully, enthusiastic with her beginnings in teaching him French.

'Pain, huh?' he repeated, his pronunciation off.

' _Pa_ - _in_ , two seellables.'

' _Pain_?' Harry tried once more.

'Oui.'

'And oui means yes. I can only assume non means no.'

'Good boy. You are learning,' she said with a smile as she let a finger slip into the hole of her coffee cup and brought it to her lips to take a sip.

Harry took his turn to look out into the distance, looking all but into the sun on the horizon. He's never seen such a beautiful view before, where the sun reflected off the ocean with a fantastic blend of bright and dark colours. When the sea would throw aggressive waves into the sand below, then fall away leaving a foamy-like residue for a few seconds. The beauty was only added to when a woman galloped down the beach on a patterned brown and black horse, splashing blissfully on the edge of the waters.

'Monsieur?'

Harry turned around at the voice to find a man dressed in all white, an employee of the cafe surely. He was holding a silver tray with a white cloth over it in palms of his hands, with a basket of fresh hot bread, and next to it was various assortments and condiments. He proceeded to unload the tray's contents onto their table, careful not to hit their plates or utensils.

You'd think Harry spending the majority of his school year in the presence of French and Bulgarian students, he would actually be able to grasp the basics of their languages.

'Mercy.'

Fleur head fell as she let out a giggle and a shake of the head, while the waiter looked at him and nodded before walking away. It was a nod of acknowledgement of his foreignness and pity if ever he'd seen one.

Harry turned to Fleur, but she was already on her way to correct him

' _Mare-see_ , not mercy,' she said in between laughs.

'Merci?'

Fleur nodded and covered her mouth to hold back another wave of laughs. She could only assume what the rest of his lessons would be like if he were this clueless.

 _Let us 'ope 'e is better with 'is wand zan 'e 'is wiz 'is tongue_ …Fleur thought, her expression turning sour and her face red when she noticed.

'You okay?' Harry asked, noticing the change.

'Oui,' she answered quickly, picking up a croissant from the basket. She then gestured with it for Harry to grab one of his own, and so he did.

'Just _pain_?' he asked unamused 'A little monotonous don't you think?'

Fleur responded with a mock offence, placing her hand over her heart in exaggeration.

'Just. _Pain_?!'

This was Harry's turn to shake his head in humour, then taking a bite of the croissant. It was hot but just hot enough for the butter and bread to have a delicious blend. Nonetheless, Harry found it underwhelming, it was

'Bland much?'

Fleur tut him while sliding a couple condiments on their respective plates, across the table, which Harry recognised to be butter and jam despite the foreign language. Before he could grab the butter, Fleur dragged it back with the tip of her butter knife, then cut her self a small slab and slathered it in her croissant.

'Like so,' she said, sliding the plate back to Harry as she took another bite.

Harry took her delightful expression as his cue to follow what she'd done. He took a decent slab of butter with his knife and applied it to his croissant and took a bite.

The combination of a sweet and bitter taste between the butter and the layers of bread brought a similar level of delight upon Harry. He resisted to display it, to keep some level of dignity in his time with Fleur. Forcing out of his lips

'Pretty good,' he said as coolly as he could. Fleur only gave him a sarcastic smirk in return. She pulled her mug closer to her and proceeded to dip her croissant into the hot coffee. Harry had known of dipping doughnuts into coffee from his uncle, he'd never thought the French did the same with their croissants.

Harry reached over to grab his cup of coffee which was still hot and not drunk, with the intention of continuing to follow in his companion's footsteps.

* * *

'So…Le Havre is nice,' Harry commented, looking out at the horizon. It's been nearly thirty minutes since they've finished their breakfast at Café Crêpe. After they finished the croissants, trying out both butter, jam, and a quick dip in a coffee mug, they ordered the signature Crêpe's the cafe offered.

Now, they decided to take a walk down at the beach. Spending the morning gazing down at the golden sands below did much to influence them.

'It is a lovely town. My muzzer used to take Gabby and me up 'ere for summers,' Fleur said, looking down into the sands as she dragged her toes through them. In her right hand, she held her gladiator flats. She wanted to feel the sand between her toes, for she couldn't remember the last time she went to the beach.

She took precautions against the sweeping waves by rolling up a few centimetres of the ends of her jeans. Which was proven to have been a good idea as a wave had just crashed and momentarily submerged her feet.

Fleur reacted by yanking them out of the cool water, triggering a squeal as she bumped into Harry.

'Cold?' Harry teased, sarcasm dripping in his tone as he mocks her startle.

The French Veela wasn't exactly ticked off by his word, she just didn't like getting caught in an embarrassing moment like she was now. So the turning of tables was arranged as she grabbed Harry by the wrist and pulled on him. Harry stumbled towards the sea graced sand of the beach, having his sneakers descend into the wet sand and the seawater reaching his socks.

'Hey!' Harry exclaimed as his feet did their best to minimise the damage.

Eventually, he gave up as another wave crashed from behind him and drenched his shoes and much of the lower parts of his trousers. Fleur could see him seething with mild anger, but the moment she let out her laughter, his expression turned to confusion.

Fleur couldn't tell what it was about Harry that made him so very reluctant and resistant to get mad or frustrated with her. Even now, when she'd, very intentionally, gotten his clothes wet, he was grinning, on the verge of joining her in her laughter. Laughter that was directed at his own demise to nature.

It was a side of Harry that Fleur didn't have the privilege of seeing in her time at Hogwarts. A side she never could have seen before now because she spent the majority of her time at Hogwarts thinking and treating Harry as if he was the opposite of what he actually was. He lacked all the elements of a spoilt rich brat, and could easily tell what one looked like because she attended a school with far too many of them.

She couldn't remember when she began running up the beach, her bare feet trying so hard to push her further and further away from the man who was giving chase. All they could hear was the sands beneath their feet as they ran, and the calming morning waves by their side, and the laughs that plagued the air between them.

With the occasional trip in her step, it would send her within range of Harry's form of retaliation: a measly kick into the water towards her. She heard the kick, and felt a spray of sea water his the back of her plaid shirt, sending her galloping for a larger lead.

Years it must have been since she'd smiled so large…and real.

Their chase didn't last long as Fleur found out the hard way that she was out of shape, and was being chased by a Seeker. Their profession is to chase after something tiny and fast, both of which she was not.

Fleur started shivering under the chilliness brought on by Harry's attacks as various areas of her body got progressively wetter. He didn't feel the need to hold back she suspected. It may be summertime, but it is still early in the morning.

She found it due time to throw her hands up in the air, the back of her hands facing her pursuer

'Okay! Okay! I surrender!' She shouted over her shoulder with a laugh.

'Ain't that a French thing to do,' commented Harry as he approached. Harry soon bit the dust — or more appropriately, the sand — when Fleur drew her wand from her holster and cast a tripping jinx non-verbally behind her. She was delighted when she heard a grunt as his face met the dry sand of the beach, and so she continued walking ahead while emanating a slight shiver.

'That's cheating,' Harry finally said before sputtering the sand from his lips.

Though Fleur didn't care for it much, she was too focused on guiding the scouring charm around the wetter areas of her shirt and her soaked jeans. When she felt free of the invasive waters, she flicked her wand towards Harry's feet, cleaning out his shoes and lower parts of his trousers. Though not completely clean, it was enough for Harry to be happy to not have wet socks anymore. The sound of squishing with every step he took was annoying as it was.

It sneaked up on Fleur, her tire forming into a yawn leaving her lips. If she were willing to bet, Harry too was tired. They'd both had not the best of comfort when they crossed channel into France's wards. Apparition was great because it was only a brief moment of discomfort, but spending a near quarter of the day sleeping on a boat, sat up on wooden benches wasn't exactly the most appealing form of transport.

She didn't know how it had been prolonged, how they've been distracted from the one place they were supposed to go when they crossed into France. They were hungry, and so they ate. Now they were spending the better half of the morning like kids at the beach. Fleur was tired, and it was bound to happen, so she raised her arm once more while she looked up and over her shoulder at her surroundings.

'Another jump I presume?' Harry asked.

'Non,' she looked down back at him 'I just wanted to 'old your arm again,' she teased.

She let a few seconds pass as Harry tried to assemble a sentence in his rising blushes. Fun was a weak way of describing why she keeps doing what she does. Exhilarating maybe. Harry Potter was not like other wizards, for more than the obvious reasons. He seemed completely immune to her allure, and it was not due to the natural reasons that would grant immunity.

Such immunity gave her a gift that she could only ever experience with a number of individuals less than she could count with one hand. The ability to feel like a normal girl, where her Veela blood plays little, if not no role in what they experience together. He hasn't once drooled over her like his redheaded best friend had, nor stare uncomfortably from a distance like she was a magnet to his eyes. If ever he was caught staring at her, it would be for other reasons, and he would actually have dignity and embarrassment for doing so.

So if teasing him would help her feel like a normal human being, why would she ever stop?

'We are not going to leenger around a beach all day, are we?' she asked rhetorically, beckoning him to grab on 'If it 'elps, we are just going over zere,' Fleur said, pointing across the river. Provided the river was ten kilometres wide, it is hard to see the land at the other end of the said river, which unsettled Harry briefly.

'Well, it's a short distance, I think?' He hoped. If there was anything he knew about apparition, it's that discomfort scales with distance. Little Whinging to Portsmouth had him feeling like his innards had gone through a liquidiser. Though from the ferry into Le Havre, it wasn't as pleasant as it could be, if only she'd given him a heads up.

'Oui, now…' she shook her arm impatiently.

Harry groaned as he grabbed on and felt squeezed, top to bottom before he landed on his feet. The apparition itself was brief, and the two managed themselves in the middle of a quiet, small street.

They could still hear the waves of the ocean behind them, so they weren't ways of distance from the beach, but apparently, to Harry, they had crossed the river. He released his hold on Fleur and let her guide him to wherever she intended on bringing him.

They walked down the street by the seaside for a minute until she stopped in front of their destination.

'Voila. 'ome sweet 'ome,' Fleur said quietly gesturing at the home in front of them.

Harry's eyes scanned the home, which took to a compact four-story home. It was small, definitely smaller than his home in Little Whinging, but it compensated by having several floors, he guessed. If he really let his imagination wander, he would assume it was bigger on the inside like the tents at the Quidditch World Cup.

'I know it is small, but it is 'omey,'

Fleur walked towards the double doors at its base and opened the doors while gesturing to the plaque on the wall beside it.

It read:

 _La Tour_

 _3 Rue des Bains, Villerville_

Harry ignored the fact that the door was unlocked. When he opened his mouth to speak, she was already inside, and so he entered as well.

The ground floor wasn't a place to brag about, it wasn't exactly cramped, but it didn't seem designed to be a place where most people would linger about. There was a couch against the wall to his right and a fireplace to the right. The distance between the two walls was under two metre's long, yet didn't give emit a cramped atmosphere about the place.

Fleur reached around Harry to shut the door before she began to speak.

'Zis 'ome is under ze Fidelius Charm, a very powerful, very old protection ward.'

Harry nodded along, with her so far.

'Practically, zis 'ome cannot be seen, cannot be 'eard, and cannot be plotted on any map.'

He raised his eyebrow at this, impressed at this scale of magic. His knowledge of wards has been limited to Protego Totalum, which was something he'd read at the end of his textbook by accident. A spell that could properly keep him safe for once, since the "safest place in England" was definitely not doing the job.

'This is brilliant Fleur, thank you,' Harry thanked standing awkwardly, unsure if he should hug her or something.

Fleur could only laugh once more that morning

* * *

 **End Notes:** Here's a fun fact for your readers. All locations in this story are real, including the cafe's to La Tour itself. La Tour is a home that was built in the mid 1800s. It is located in Villerville on Rue des Bains. You can look it up to can a photo reference for the place.

If you spot any discrepancies or inconsistencies in Fleur's dialogue in regards to the accent, just remember, her accent is annoying to write.


End file.
